On Safari
by Gemini Explorer
Summary: In the first of my safari-set Fics, Marguerite, Veronica, and other girls are taken by slavers. Will they be sent to serve the son of the evil Sultan who once owned Marguerite, or escape? What other dangers await the adventurers? Finn gets a secretary and faces death as she confronts an injured buffalo. New continuing characters are introduced.


NOTE: This story is rated Mature for scenes of violence, sexual situations, and adult language. Content does not exceed that of some bestselling novels, but may be stressful for very sensitive persons or young readers. This is a fairly harsh tale in places, and readers who are uneasy with similar content in detective and adventure novels may wish to approach this Fic with caution. As with my other stories, this is set after the Third Season of TLW, and there are three couples as core characters. The Roxtons and the Malones will be anticipated by fans. The Challengers are my own idea, but G&F click pretty well as I write them. In my Fics, Jessie Challenger died of flu in 1921, freeing G&F to marry. The reasons for them doing so are explained in other Fics and there isn't space here for that. All three have children, left in Brazil by N&V and in London by M&R and G&F, with nannies. This is the first and longest of my five (so far) safari-based fics, and introduces new continuing characters. All new characters are my own. Those from the TV show are the property of New Line Cinema, the estate of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, etc., and gratitude is expressed to the rights holders for permission to use them in fan fiction. NOTE: Some terms depict racial and cultural attitudes of the time in which the story is set, for authenticity and educational purposes, and do not reflect the modern attitudes of anyone connected with The Lost World enterprise. NOTE: All characters are fictional, or if historical figures, are used fictionally.

NOTE: This was loaded as one long entry, but is edited into chapters. Just scroll down and read, and you'll find chapter headings, letting you read to the end of a chapter. Few readers will be able to finish the story in one sitting. It is more of a novelette than a short story. I hope you enjoy it, and learn more about the times in which the Lost World characters would have lived, had they been real. _**Please read and review. Reviews are the only pay that a Fic author receives!**_

**On Safari**

by

Gemini Explorer

-Kenya Colony, British East Africa, 1928-

Marguerite Roxton sat at a table, a rather nice table actually, in the New Stanley Hotel in Nairobi. She was listening to her husband discussing with their white hunter which species of game they would first seek when their safari got underway in two days' time. In the interim, they would have safari clothing made to measure, including boots, and purchase mosquito nets and a few other essentials that they had not brought from Britain. They already owned a good deal of their gear and had bought some additional items at home, leaving a minimum to be acquired here, in this outpost of their Empire.

The hunter, Geoffrey Blacklaws, was telling Lord John Roxton something about antelopes. "Isn't that right, Lady Roxton?" said Blacklaws heartily. He took a sip of his whiskey and water and looked expectantly at his female client.

Marguerite was startled. She had been only half listening; her mind occupied by something that she had seen as they unloaded their luggage outside the hotel and checked in.

She remembered what the men were saying. "Ah, Mr. Blacklaws, that's all very interesting to my husband, I'm sure, but I can never sort out the differences between those similar antelope. The topi and the hartebeest, in particular, always baffle me. But don't mind me: I'm a simple female. What do I know about these matters?" She smiled charmingly, and Blacklaws, like many another man before, was enchanted.

Roxton was less pleased. "Come now, Marguerite," he demanded. "Don't you remember me showing you these species from the mounted ones at home and in friends' dens? And the zoo? You at least recall the similar ones, like the impala, the reedbuck, and the Uganda kob? And the little duikers and the Thomson's and other gazelles? We'll collect some of those for trophies and for camp meat. You'll find them delicious."

"Quite right, Lady Roxton," echoed Blacklaws. "And we'll shoot both Greater and Lesser Kudu and Sable antelope, also. And of course, the Big Five of dangerous game."

"Oh, I know those," interjected Veronica Malone, sitting between her husband Ned and her friend Nicole "Finn" Challenger. "They're the elephant, the rhino, the cape buffalo, the lion, and the leopard. Right?"

"Right you are, Mrs. Malone," beamed Blacklaws. "I say, here comes the waiter. Would anyone care for another drink? With any luck at all, they've run a cow to ground, and the roast beef will be along shortly." He looked at Mrs. Malone and Mrs. Challenger. "And the chicken surely hasn't flown the coop, either, ladies. Your lunches will be surprisingly good, I daresay. This hotel does quite well with meals, you know. It's not like we live in the jungle, as people back in England and the States often think." He smiled apologetically at Ned Malone, the lone American at their table. Not that Blacklaws realized that Mrs. Malone was a Brazilian, for she was of Anglo ancestry, and she spoke English like an American. Indeed, she was in the process of taking out US citizenship.

"I know there are towns here," said Ned. "But you do have a lot of empty real estate out here, too."

Blacklaws happily agreed. "Yes, indeed: MMBA is the expression. Miles and miles of bloody Africa." Everyone laughed politely.

In spite of herself, Marguerite was amused, and the hunter thought that she was still very attractive, although probably in her mid to late thirties. The two blonde ladies seemed to be in their mid twenties, with Mr. Malone a few years older than his spouse. Prof. Challenger was noticeably older than his wife, but they seemed to get along extremely well. When he had met the three couples as they arrived on the train from Mombasa, he had suspected that Mrs. Challenger had married for money. Or, perhaps she was her man's trophy bride. But he had soon realized that even if this was so, they seemed to get along famously, being quite affectionate and obviously attentive to one another. In fact, not only did all three couples get along, they seemed to be very close friends of long acquaintance.

"Have you all known one another before, or did you meet on the ship?"

Challenger told Blacklaws that they had spent some years together in the Amazonian jungle, and it hit the hunter with the force of a .577 Nitro Express bullet who these people were. Good heavens! Of course! That was why they looked familiar. This was the Challenger Expedition! The very people whom he had seen in the papers and in, "The Illustrated London News." They were really quite famous, although they seemed very unaffected and casual.

He pumped them for details of their experiences, and for parallel animals. "Are jaguars an awfully lot larger than our leopards? I read in your book, Mr. Malone that your friends killed an especially savage black one that had turned out man-eater?"

The waiter said that dinner would be out soon, and asked about drinks. They all renewed, Finn Challenger and Veronica Malone opting for lemonade and glasses of water. The others drank whiskey, save for Marguerite Roxton, who said that she would like another pot of tea.

Hardly had the waiter gone, when another African staffer of the hotel approached Blacklaws. "Bwana, you have telephone call at bar. Bartender say, you come soon, he hold call."

Blacklaws excused himself, and Marguerite thought that he looked quite dashing in his well cut grey suit, with a Guards tie. Probably, he swept his share of women off their feet, like her husband had once done. These days, she was glad to be the only sweeping that Roxton was doing...

"Penny for your thoughts, Darling," Roxton offered. He knew full well that she was preoccupied by something other than lunch on one hand or antelope species on the other.

She smiled slightly and decided to play this for laughs. She held out a hand. "Payment in advance, John."

Finn laughed. She was fumbling for something in her purse, and passed a penny to Roxton. "Here, Johnny. Pay her off and let's hear her. Something is occupying her mind, and we'd better know what. She has that dangerous look about her today."

"All beautiful women have a dangerous look to them, Finnykins," Marguerite said. "Don't you know that? Why should I be the exception?" She took the coin and dropped it down her bosom. "There, Roxton: you can go treasure hunting later." She smirked at the amused, embarrassed look on his face as the others laughed. Challenger, older than the others and more formal, coughed uncomfortably, but he smiled too, as his wife noted.

Malone demanded, "Well? Doesn't a penny buy anything any more?"

Marguerite lowered her voice, although it carried around the table. "Listen, did any of you notice that Arab chap talking to the Indian _wallah_ as we unloaded luggage? The man in the green turban, rather prosperous looking, if a little sinister?"

"Yeah," admitted Finn. "He was kind of creepy, if you ask me. Not that anyone has, until now." She grinned at her attempt at humor, and Challenger smiled and laid a large hand over one of hers in affection and support.

"Finn's right," agreed Mrs. Malone. "I got the willies from that guy. He looked at us girls like we were pieces of meat, or something. Marguerite, he kept looking at you, in particular. Maybe he prefers brunettes."

"Now, don't start that blondes vs. brunettes thing again," pleaded Ned. For years, Marguerite and the other two girls had teased one another about their respective hair colors.

None of the men had paid attention, for they had been shaking hands with Blacklaws and supervising getting their baggage from the taxi and an accompanying truck.

"So, what's the deal, Marguerite?" asked Finn. "Did this guy really creep you out? Is your Druid psychic side telling you something?" She grinned, thinking that Marguerite was being melodramatic, something for which the older woman was in fact known.

"Yes," Lady Roxton said simply. "Yes, he did. I felt a cold chill down my spine, and Roxton here was keeping his hands to himself. I have the oddest feeling that I have seen that chap somewhere before, and that it was someplace unpleasant." She looked thoughtful, and her husband became a little worried. He had learned to respect Marguerite's intuition. Her hunches were often surprisingly prescient.

"Probably nothing," opined Ned Malone. "All of those ragheads look pretty much the same. And a lot of them look creepy, like they get portrayed in adventure films."

Everyone agreed, but Marguerite had seen many Arabs, and she knew very well that they didn't all look alike, once you became accustomed to what to look for. Perhaps she had seen this one in Cairo some years ago, when she had had a close call with the law during the sale of some gems that were not, technically speaking, really her property to sell.

Blacklaws interrupted her concentration as he returned, the waiters bearing lunch just behind. But Marguerite made a mental note to keep her mind working on this. In time, that marvelous human computer would provide an answer. Probably, there was just a resemblance to someone in her past. For now, she was starved, and the food looked and smelled scrumptious. She smiled, and reached for her fork as the chicken and vegetable meal was laid out before her.

Usually, more professional white hunters would be with so many clients. In this case, because their other hunter knew Roxton and felt that he was of nearly professional caliber himself, and Challenger was along mainly to study local flora and fauna, two men and their crews would be enough. In any event, John A. Hunter, the other guide whom Roxton had hoped to engage, was already booked by an Indian maharaja. He was now quite a popular professional for wealthy clients from all over the world. (Note: J.A. Hunter was a real white hunter and his titles, "Hunter" and, "Hunter's Tracks" are strongly recommended.)

The other guide for this excursion was Stuart Hamilton, DSO, MC (and Bar). He had served with Roxton in France after fighting the German General von Lettow-Vorbeck in Tanganyika, and Roxton said that he was a first class man. With the Distinguished Service Order and two Military Crosses to his name, he certainly had the credentials for bravery!

Hamilton had rung to say that he was leaving the garage where he had had the front axle on his hunting car repaired, and would arrive in a few minutes, He had asked that Blacklaws order his lunch. Hamilton had just driven in from his ranch in the Ngong Hills after another safari, and Roxton said that they were fortunate to acquire his services. Like Hunter, he was much in demand.

True to promise, Stuart Hamilton appeared within half an hour, just as the waiter announced that his steak was ready. Blacklaws had ordered him a gin and tonic, which the newcomer seized happily, as soon as he had been introduced around the table.

Malone noticed that the ladies seemed to like the handsome hunter, as indeed they had been eyeing Blacklaws. Both were large, athletic men, who looked as if they had stepped off of a recruiting poster or from a movie set. Blacklaws was dark haired, with a slim mustache, and fitted to a tee the adage that a man should be tall, dark, and handsome. He evoked thoughts of a swashbuckling privateer on the Spanish Main three hundred years before, or reminded people of an officer on the bridge of a destroyer going in harm's way. Some might see him as Robin Hood. He was originally South African, but had moved to Kenya after the war

His fellow hunter was about the same height, two inches over six feet, but was fair haired and clean shaven. He was dressed in bush shirt and khaki trousers, having just driven in from his ranch. But he looked as capable of impressing clients as was his suited peer.

Marguerite Roxton looked at the newcomer as they chatted, and she and Finn Challenger exchanged a meaningful look. They glanced away from each other just in time to avoid mutually giggling. Both were quite taken with Blacklaws, and Hamilton was at least as charming. Not that any of the three ladies saw a need to share that knowledge with their spouses...Jealousy was a green-eyed monster best kept well caged.

Marguerite noticed Mrs. Malone playing with her hair as she tried to find questions for Hamilton. He fielded them with aplomb, if using rather few words. Blacklaws was more openly affable, a glib raconteur and a natural entertainer. She thought that it was no wonder that he was much in demand as a guide and mentor for clients from all over the civilized world. She noticed his South African accent, but his voice was smooth and cultured,, that of an educated man of the upper middle class. She knew that he was, like Hamilton, a decorated war hero.

"I want to shoot a really big lion," gushed Finn. She had longed to do this ever since Roxton had told her tales of his own early hunts in this wild land. His narrow escapes never failed to enchant and intrigue her. Finn was a huntress, teased about her enthusiasm by Marguerite. Indeed, when they had been trapped on that remote Brazilian plateau where they had met, she was often Roxton's companion in the chase. Marguerite had dubbed them Orion and Diana, or The Gun People. Their conversations about guns, animals, history, and similar subjects tended to bore her, causing her to seek coffee and company with Veronica Layton, now Mrs. Edward Malone.

Now she saw her chance to zing Finn and her own husband. Putting on a cheerful, interested face, she asked, "Mr. Hamilton, you have hunted here for some time. Where might we find trophy-sized lions? Ones with great black manes and teeth that can kill a buffalo?" She beamed all of her charm at him.

Hamilton was reserved and relatively sparse with words, for all his assured, self confident looks. He spoke as much with his body and facial expressions as he did with words. But he seemed genial, if not as forthcoming as Blacklaws. Private, but competent...

"We should have good luck with that on the Athi Plains as well as other places. This country has no shortage of lions, but the Athi is perhaps the best place for that. Maybe the Masai Mara area. Or, if you fancy stalking known man-eaters, down around Tsavo. For some obscure reason, many lions at Tsavo like to dine on two-legged prey. I expect that there's no accounting for taste."

"So, either the Athi Plains or Tsavo have big lions?"

"Yes, ma'am," agreed Hamilton. "Big ones and plenty of them".

"Wonderful," said Marguerite. "Lets' go somewhere else! Now, I know where I don't want to be." She smiled to show that she was making a joke. Not that she really felt any differently than she presented herself.

Hamilton smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I'll try to keep you from being eaten, Lady Roxton. It reflects poorly on my image as a professional hunter to have clients consumed by our intended prey."

Finn stuck out her tongue at Marguerite. "Stay in camp, then, 'fraidy cat. But I want to shoot a couple of lions. Johnny, will you hunt with me?" She turned to the male Roxton.

He nodded, amused by his wife's antics. "Certainly, Finn. I'll be happy to have you along when we hunt any game out here. Marguerite can stay in camp and read while we have all the fun."

"If you call being eaten by a lion 'fun', you can have it." retorted his mate. "I'll just watch some birds and make sure that tea is ready when you stalwarts of the chase come home."

They continued to talk throughout lunch and Finn became aware that Hamilton was giving her a close examination when he thought that no one else was watching. Once, she caught him at it, and they exchanged frank looks. She had the feeling that he was offering a challenge or an invitation.

After a time, she excused herself to "powder her nose". Veronica asked to join her, and the ladies left, following directions from Blacklaws. The others placed dessert orders, not paying much attention to the restroom visitors. They were engrossed in discussing where to hunt cape buffalo, and arguing which of the Big Five was the most dangerous animal.

But in a moment, Hamilton said that they had had the right idea, and that he hadn't had time to visit sanitary facilities before coming from the garage. "Be back in a jiffy," he promised. "Just tell the waiter that I'll have a slice of that white cake with the chocolate icing, will you, Geoff? Coffee with it, please."

In the ladies room, Finn and Veronica discussed the white hunters, snickering as they covered their intimate assessments of each.

"Both of these guys think they're God's gift to women," Finn speculated. "And they are good looking. I'd just bet that they score on a lot of chicks out here, including some of the old rich guy clients' wives and daughters."

Veronica agreed. "But I don't want any trouble. Most men will try their luck with us if they think they'll get anywhere. I'll ignore them unless it gets to be a real problem, then tell them where to go. If that doesn't work, we'll tell our own men. But I don't think there'll be a problem. We just need to let them know that we're taken. They seem like nice men, deep down. Unfortunately, deep down is how far you have to dig to find the niceness in a lot of men."

She saw Finn brushing her hair and playing with her lipstick, and told her that she was going back to the table. "Did you want dessert? I'm full. You and Marguerite are so lucky that you can eat what you want and not get fat. I have to watch my step, beyond a certain point, as you well know."

"So you say, " Finn answered. "I've never seen any sign that you were ever too heavy. You're a hot number, Vee. Ned is lucky to have you. See if they have vanilla ice cream. If not, that cake that Hamilton wants is okay. Coffee for me, too."

Veronica shook her head, watching herself in the mirror. She liked the gilded frame in which it reposed. The ladies room here was a far cry from the canvas tent that it would be when they left Nairobi. "I should have known that you'd go for the ice cream. I'll see what I can do." She closed her tortoiseshell compact, dropped it into her purse, and went out, her high heels clicking on the marble floor, her pleated knee length white skirt rustling sensuously as she walked. Finn heard the faint swish of silk stockings as Veronica's legs brushed one another, and grinned into the mirror as she freshened her own lipstick. They both looked a far cry from what they had when they had lived on that remote plateau where they had become best friends.

She sobered briefly as she remembered her life in New Amazonia, where she had sometimes not known where her next meal was coming from, or who she would find for companionship, or for how long. Her heart filled with emotion, and she had to use a tissue on her eyes. Finn thought how much she loved George Challenger, who had rescued her from a bad destiny, and given her hope, love, and someone to hear her darkest secrets and fears. And then tell her that she was wonderful, and that all would be well. And it had gone well. Now she was a published author, the wife of a famous man, and the mother of two gorgeous, loving children. Her soul was usually at peace, save for her deepest nightmares, and when those came, her man held her to him and made it all good again. George was husband, father, counselor, and best friend to her, all in one.

She lifted her dark blue dress, with short sleeves and cloth belt. It was the height of fashion for younger women in London, with a skirt that would have been deemed scandalous before the war. The war had changed society, she understood, ushering in a new era. It still seemed stuffy to her, as a child of the 21st Century, but it had to be better than it was before the Roaring '20's began.

Finn wore a lacy black garter (suspender) belt under her dress, and she adjusted her right stocking now, thinking of how glamorous she felt. Her loose skirt would blow up if a strong wind came, but she wasn't too concerned. It was a calm day, and she was proud of her long, shapely legs. In truth, she was a slight exhibitionist, as long as she didn't go overboard and cause gossip that might embarrass her husband. The dress had a matching short jacket with puffed shoulders and she shrugged, getting it draped just right. That done, she opened the door, ready to return to the table.

It was at that point that she realized that Hamilton had stepped from the men's room and was eyeing her appreciatively, running his gaze from her hair to her ankles and back again. He smiled and started to say something.

"Mr. Hamilton, have I got something on my dress? You seem concerned about my appearance?" Finn was cool, but not angry. She felt flattered, but needed to let this man know that she wouldn't be intimidated, or enchanted by him. He probably found most women to be easy prey. Like my good buddy Johnny Roxton once did, she reflected.

"No, ma'am, "he replied. "There is nothing on your dress. I was just admiring it. You have excellent taste. But you probably look good in anything. Prof. Challenger is a fortunate man to have you as his wife. I mean that as a compliment. I'm not being 'fresh'. I am simply impressed. Of course, the other ladies are also very lovely. That's good. I hate safaris where one woman is jealous of another to the point that it causes friction. But you all seem to get on very well."

"We do," she assured him. "And we all get along with our men. I love my husband, Mr. Hamilton. Some think that I married for money, but I have money of my own. Not all South Americans are impoverished." She flushed slightly, for she had heard some unsavory comments along those lines.

He raised his eyebrows. "You are South American? I noticed the American accent, but I thought that you and Mrs. Malone were from the USA or maybe Canada? Are you British now?"

Finn smiled. "As British as the flag. I took British citizenship when I married. It was easier for my husband and for our children. But I retain dual citizenship from Brazil, where I was raised. I'm just not a 'dago', so I don't look like the popular image of a Brazilian, I'm afraid. But many of us have Anglo ancestry. A whole group emigrated there from the Confederate states after the US Civil War, and many Germans and others came to live in Brazil. Genetically, I'm as Anglo as you are. But I'm a real _brasileira, _too_."_

She rattled off a couple of paragraphs in fluent Portuguese. "Now, do you believe me? By the way, Mrs. Malone, Veronica, is from the same place. We just learned English with a US accent, because the only English speakers we knew were American, for the most part. Both of our fathers were American, too. Our mothers were Anglos from that plateau in Brazil."

"And Mr. Malone? Is he also Brazilian?"

"No, Neddy is from New York. He's the real item, a _yanqui _man. Look, what I'm trying to say here is, I'd like for us to be friends. But I know the reputation of some white hunters. You fellows sometimes think that you're real studs. And you are a very hot guy. I admit that. I was flattered when you were running your eyes over me. If you hadn't thought I was cute, you probably wouldn't have bothered. I'm a little vain, I know. I like being admired. Most women do. We just try not to admit it. I'm a brash chick.

"But I married for love, and George Challenger is not just my husband. He's a scientific icon. I admire him, even adore him. Marguerite and Veronica tease me about worshipping him, and there may even be some truth to that. He's meant a lot to me, in several ways. You and I can be friends, and I hope that we will. You may notice that John Roxton and I are very close. Real buddies, on and off the hunt. But his wife is one of my two best friends, and he's more a brother or favorite uncle than anything more. Don't read too much into any teasing that we do. George is the only man whose bed I warm, and that isn't going to change, even for a really handsome white hunter. I hope that I haven't overstepped, but I thought that you and I should know where we're coming from before you feel tempted to do more than look at me. Looking is fine, if no one notices. More isn't going to happen. Please excuse me if I misinterpreted your intentions. I get a lot of attention from men who think I'm too young for my husband. I'm not. I grew up fast, and George is my idol. Now, I guess we'd better go see if dessert is there."

"That was quite a speech, Mrs. Challenger," Hamilton conceded. "But looking was all that I intended. Actually, I hadn't intended to stare, and I hope that I didn't. I was just automatically drawn to admire something so lovely as you are.

"For the record, I am officially off the market," he continued. "I am engaged to a local girl, Diana Hardy. You'll meet her if we swing by her father's farm. We probably will, because that's one of the best places that I know for lesser kudu and bushbuck, and Angus Hardy is an old friend of mine. I have no intention of cheating on his daughter.

"As for being friends, I hope so. I'd like that, and I want to be friends with your husband, too. I know his reputation. He is indeed an impressive man, who will certainly go down in history as a great inventor. May I call you by your first name, as we are going to be seeing a lot of one another for the next couple of months? I promise that I won't overstep our acquaintance."

He smiled and Finn felt a warm flush suffuse her. There was something to the legend of men like these affecting women. He was not only in a glamorous business, and very good looking; she had seen the initials after his name. A war hero. Quite a formidable combination, especially with that smile...

"Call me Finn, then, Stuart. My real name is Nicole, but my maiden name was Finnegan, and Finn is my nickname. Only my really close friends usually even know that I'm Nicole. When my husband calls me that, I know that it usually means that I'm in trouble or that he has something big to discuss. So, I'm Finn to my friends. I hope that you'll stay one, even after this safari. I think that I'm going to like Africa. We'll probably be back, if the children aren't too big an issue. When they're older, I want to bring them here."

"You have children. Many?"

"Two. A boy and a girl. Arthur and Caroline. All three of us women have two kids apiece, and all are one boy and one girl.. Coincidence, I guess. We left them with our nannies and the Roxtons' nannies in our London townhome. Our butler, Thomas, is in charge. He's very competent, and he's good with children, too.

"The Malones don't have nannies. They are visiting from Brazil, where they still live. Veronica and Ned raise their kids on their own. It's a source of pride to them. They aren't sure that we Limeys have the right ideas with our nannies and butlers and valets. But Marguerite and I make a point to be with the kids a lot, more than most well-to-do mothers do. I love many things, but my husband and my children are first in my heart. I even love them more than I do my guns and my binoculars and my fishing stuff." She grinned.

"But the really amazing thing is that Marguerite loves her offspring more than she does jewels. I never thought that I'd see the day. Oh, look: our cake is here, and Veronica even had them send out some ice cream. Ice cream is my secret passion. My husband knows, but he tolerates that one rival for my love."

Hamilton laughed. "I think I'm going to enjoy knowing you, Finn. You and Lady Roxton are quite funny at times. I like that."

"Oh, Marguerite is funny, all right. But you have to watch her when she's mad. It used to be that she didn't want to wear a knife on her gun belt, but we didn't worry about it. She could always slice things with a few cutting remarks. She's nicer in her old age, though. You'll like her. We all do. She's just an acquired taste."

With Hamilton chuckling about that, they resumed their seats at the table, and Finn looked gleefully at the ice cream, for which she thanked Veronica.

They shopped that afternoon, having an Indian tailor take measurements for safari clothing and boots. As they browsed shops along the central business district and bought souvenirs and gifts to ship to their children, another inconspicuous Indian followed them.

He noted the license plates of the hunting cars and jotted down notes about the entire group. A skilled artist, he made careful sketches of their faces. He then took these notes to an Arab in a green turban who paid him fifty shillings and told him to continue to follow the visitors, if he wanted more money.

The Arab sat in his own store and mulled over the notes. These included the names that the artist had overheard the group using among themselves. One name stood out: Marguerite, Lady Roxton. Then, he remembered. Yes! Marguerite Smith was the name of an English girl who had been sold to the Sultan of Amarrah, whom he had served before making enough money to move to East Africa and open his own business.

This slave girl had escaped with the help of a German arms merchant. (See, "A Prisoner of the Sultan, or How Marguerite Learned to Dance" in Mature fiction on this board.) She had been one of the Sultan's prized slaves, and was in fact his best dancer, one whom he commanded to perform when he had guests whom he wished to impress. She had been one of his favored sleeping girls, too. If only he had remembered to chain her by the ankle to the ring at the foot of his bed on that night when she had disappeared...

The girl had fled and others had to be given up when U.S. and British warships had appeared in the harbor of the capital city. President Theodore Roosevelt, for this had been during his administration before World War I, had ordered the admiral commanding the American fleet to begin bombarding the palace and other key buildings and to land his Marines. The Sultan's only option had been to release his slave girls, an action that would have irreversibly shamed him before other Arab potentates. War had been averted only by diplomats negotiating an arrangement whereby the Sultan would quietly deliver all of his English-speaking girls to the Royal Navy flagship under cover of darkness, when the fewest of his subjects would see. Girls of other nationalities would be retained. Hardly fair, but pragmatic...

The Sultan had declared for Germany during the Great War, and British troops had invaded his kingdom. He was killed in the fighting. After the war, his eldest son became Sultan, and he had never forgotten the shame that had befallen his father because of that damned English slave, Marguerite! He had offered large sums to whoever could deliver her into his hands, but she had never been found. Indeed, the reward was mainly a means of salving the new Sultan's ire and enhancing his image in the Middle East. The girl was known to have been returned to Britain, and he had small hope of ever finding her. In time, most had forgotten the issue. But now, if this Lady Roxton was who Nidal al Khalid thought she was, that vast reward might be his!

He had seen the girl dance on several occasions when he had been the old Sultan's guest. Lady Roxton had aged, was now in her mid or late 30's, although she had retained most of her looks. But Khalid was almost certain that this was the very girl whom he had seen writhing on the sultan's dance floor and serving him dates, figs, and grapes with fruit juices. And she had looked back at him, sensing that she somehow knew him, although not sure why.

Khalid composed a coded telegram to the new Sultan, with whom he had continued to do business. He wanted to know whether the reward was still offered, and if so, how much. He felt sure that fortune might smile upon him. If it did not smile upon the English harlot who had presumed to marry an Earl, so be it. The girl had clearly gotten above herself. It was merely fair that she be returned to the son of her master, especially if her return enriched Nidal al Khalid. Truly, there was justice in the world, after all!

He called for his servant to bring tea, and smiled. This had been an eventful day. Perhaps, tomorrow would be better.

CHAPTER TWO

Two days later, their equipment all ready, the explorers loaded the cars and met their personal "boys" and gun bearers.

The Roxtons went through the same process as the others, with Geoff Blacklaws officiating. He introduced Juma, the personal boy, and Metheke and Jomo, their gun bearers. The Africans grinned broadly and said, _"Jambo, Bwana. Jambo, Mem'Sahib_." The head "boy", Moussa, had been with Blacklaws for ten years, and knew how to run the camp staff. Others had been with the same basic crew for a year or more, save for Juma, who was a last minute replacement for another African who had gone missing

"Probably drank too much native beer, and is passed out in some unsavory woman's place of business in a time-honored profession," muttered Blacklaws, who had hired Juma the previous day. He had fortunately applied, with good references, just as Blacklaws was giving up on the other boy.

The personal boys were dressed like African staff at the hotel, in long white gowns and red fez caps with matching cummerbund style sashes at their waists. Moussa wore a green fez and cummerbund to distinguish him from the lesser help. The gun bearers wore cut-off trousers and shirts with short sleeves. They were barefoot, as they had lived all their lives. The personal boys tended to wear sandals.

The other hunter, Stuart Hamilton, went through the same procedure with his clients. Blacklaws would guide the Roxtons and the Malones, with Hamilton seeing to the Challengers. Although they were in separate hunters' care, the group would remain together, camping in the same places. By day, the hunters would take out their charges to hunt in different areas, to minimize crowding or having clients quarrel over who got to shoot a particularly nice trophy animal. It would also avoid having too many people in one place for quietness, essential in stalking alert game.

They got underway by ten and paused to eat by the road a little after noon. It was just after two in the afternoon that Blacklaws and Hamilton pulled over and called a group meeting.

"Time to be certain that the guns are sighted-in properly and to be sure that you folks don't have any problems with the light here. That sometimes makes people from abroad shoot badly at first." Hamilton used this diplomatic excuse for bad marksmanship. The light was different from that in Britain, but some of the clients who used that as an excuse simply had never learned basic marksmanship. Too often, some rich ninny decided to go on safari without having ever shot anything larger than a hare, if that.

The professionals understandably wanted to be sure what they were dealing with before letting anyone shoot at live animals, especially dangerous ones.

They set up a table and laid out the rifles and everyone fired a few shots at such marks as a blazed tree, a slice hacked off the trunk with the local version of a machete, called a panga. This was at about 100 yards. Shooters sat at the table, resting their rifles on a thick sweater, and squeezed off a few shots from each of their weapons. The shotguns were not meant for precise marksmanship at long range, and were excluded, being intended for pointing and swinging more than exact aiming. But Hamilton assured them that they would have marvelous wing shooting on a variety of birds.

"Tomorrow, we'll shoot sand grouse and francolin. The boys will cook them for supper. I think you'll be impressed. Have you done much wing shooting, Lady Roxton? Pheasant and grouse maybe?"

Marguerite replied that she had done, "some". "How much ammunition do I have to waste to satisfy the Great White Hunter that I can hit the back end of a bull, or whatever?" She felt mildly miffed to have to impress these men, basically just hired guides. Their role was more that of the captain of a ship, said John, but she .was underwhelmed by that explanation.

"Marguerite..." warned Roxton, and she was nicer about firing until Blacklaws was satisfied that she knew how to shoot and that the rifles' sights had not been knocked out of alignment in transit.

When everyone had finished, Hamilton commented that he had seldom seen six people who shot so well. Veronica had a rifle and had been coached in England in its use. She had also brought a good longbow and three dozen hunting arrows.

"I'll shoot some game with the rifle," she said, "but I like to fall back on the familiar, too." She set up a target and impressed everyone with her accuracy and speed with the bow. The gun bearers marveled, never having seen a European use archery tackle. They simply did not relate to a woman having weapons skills with anything but a gun, and looked at her uneasily. Ned beamed with pride at her talent, and she blushed a bit, enjoying the attention.

In the late afternoon, they spied a herd of Thomson's gazelles, and pulled over. Blacklaws asked who would like to shoot dinner.

"We need about four of these little antelope, so most of you will get a shot, if you like." He explained that the Thomson's seldom went much over 50 pounds, not all of which was good meat. The clients and the hunters would need one, the personal boys another, and two more for the camp staff.

"Let the ladies have a go," suggested Roxton. "Ned or George can shoot, too. I'll wait and shoot something larger tomorrow. I've done a lot of hunting in my life, already."

Marguerite took her .275 Rigby and Finn her new rifle of the same type. She had left her beloved Mannlicher-Schoenauer and Winchester .44 at home, wanting something flatter shooting for the African plains. She liked the light recoil and good killing power of the .275, which was basically the 7mm Mauser cartridge, loaded in England with Rigby's patented bullets. Ned Malone also came, with a custom American rifle in .30/06, built by Griffin & Howe on a M-1903 Springfield action. Veronica declined to shoot, so Challenger took his .275, selected to share the same ammunition with his wife's and the Roxtons' light rifles.

They crept up on the herd of maybe 50 animals, and Hamilton had Challenger shoot first, with his wife next.

This went splendidly, with two "buck" down in two shots, and Marguerite swung her Rigby like a shotgun, dropping a third as the antelope bolted.

"Someone pop another!," called Blacklaws, ready to shoot if a client failed to. They needed the meat to stretch their supplies and to keep the safari boys happy. One reason why they signed on was to eat far better than they would in their villages, and meat was scarce in the average native's diet. Without it on safari, they could easily grow unhappy, and become surly and inefficient.

Finn had foreseen the need, and had already cycled the bolt of her rifle. She swung, followed through even better than Marguerite had, and put a 140 grain bullet through the neck of a fleeing "Tommy". It dropped like a lead balloon, dead when it hit the ground.

The boys came forward to collect the animals, one slicing the throats, in the "hallal" stroke that made the meat acceptable for Muslims, of whom they had a number in camp.

"Actually," explained Blacklaws quietly, "The bullets generally kill. But they make a production of cutting the throats as a symbolic gesture. Lip service to their religion, I expect. But you'll see that, even when you know the beast to be stone dead. Just don't say anything. We'll all help them pretend, and everyone will eat well."

"What if we shoot a warthog or a bush pig?" queried Challenger. "Will they eat pork?"

"Officially, no," replied Hamilton. "But if no other meat is available, some of them will conveniently forget to observe religious restrictions. We try to shoot other game, but we can have the pork and shoot them something else. They don't care too much what, as long as they get plenty of meat. By the way, when we shoot really large animals, where there is far more meat than we can use, we'll make biltong from some. Dried meat. Quite tasty, and it keeps well. But what we don't use, the local natives will swarm over. What hunting safaris give them is most of what meat tribesmen get each year. If we shoot them a buffalo or elephant, they'll happily tell us where to find good examples."

"They don't hunt on their own?" Finn wanted to know. Hamilton thought that she looked very trim and sexy in a khaki shirt and Jodhpur trousers like she had seen Marguerite wear on the Plateau. Her sun helmet only added to her femininity. He wondered whether she could use the Smith & Wesson .38 Special revolver in the holster on her belt. He had, of course, never seen her in the black shorts and cropped top that she had worn in Amazonia. That would be scandalous in polite society in this time. Veronica also wore "decent" attire, not her loincloth and halter top of years past.

Blacklaws answered. "Most of these tribes are pastoral: farmers, with chickens and the like. They keep cattle, but seldom slaughter them. The Wakamba and a few others do hunt, often poach, these days. They're very artful with their poisoned arrows. What the Masai live on, I won't say, until I know you better. Perhaps the ladies might not like to know, even then." He grinned, thinking of the effect that this knowledge had on most white people.

Finn walked over to a dead Thomson's gazelle and held the head up. She stroked the fur, looking at the curved, ringed horns, and felt sadness as well as pride in her shooting.

"The best clients are those who experience sorrow when they shoot something, I think." Hamilton had followed her over, trailed by her husband. "Don't feel bad, though. All of these animals die, more nastily than by a bullet. If a lion or a leopard doesn't get them, Mother Nature sends rinderpest or some other disease. Nothing gets out of life alive, including humans. You shoot well. You killed cleanly, and quickly, as merciful a death as a wild animal ever gets. Don't feel too badly. But I'm glad to see that sensitivity. The hunters who don't show it are usually not pleasant people."

Challenger set his rifle on a log and studied the Tommy. He was fascinated by it, by the celebration of life that they had encountered. He liked the black streak along the sides of the animal, and the long neck and graceful horns.

"I want to mount one of these full size, for Arthur's room," he said. "I want the lad to grow up knowing about animals and where they fit into the overall scheme of things."

His wife took his hand and smiled. "We'll see about putting one in his room, Genius," she said. "You may have to settle for the den, with the other game mounts. Little boys may think it's sad to have one mounted near their beds. Give him some time: he's still very young."

Challenger kissed her hand as he rose. "Oh, very well. But I want several of these smaller antelope mounted for the lab, as well as in the den."

She nodded, handed him his rifle, and stood next to him, leaning into him, with him looking down into her eyes. Both smiled, and he leaned over and kissed her. "I'm happy, Darling. This is a whole new world. I can hardly wait to set out traps for small vermin and see if they yield new species for science."

"I want to see the night sky," she added. "The Milky Way must look tremendous out here."

"It does," said John Roxton, who had walked up. "It gives one a sense of where one stands in the overall scheme of Creation. Somewhere between the turtles and the stars..."

"You're closer to the turtles, if you don't congratulate me on that wonderful running shot that I made," challenged his wife.

He did, and kissed her, to the applause of the others.

Blacklaws and Hamilton looked at one another and smiled. "I think we've got a good lot on this trip, chum," said Blacklaws. "I like a safari that stays happy, and these people haven't quarreled yet. Maybe our luck will hold."

The head boy came up and pointed to the meat from the kills, ready to be loaded into the trucks.

"_Nyama, Bwana, Nyama m'zuri sana_," he said, for it was indeed very good meat. He was happy, too.

That evening, around a crackling fire of mopane wood, the group gathered for drinks as dinner was readied.

Roxton and Hamilton renewed their acquaintance from the Great War, recalling battles in which they had fought, and Roxton had to tell the others why he had been awarded his Victoria Cross: by wiping out three German machine gun crews and turning one of their Maxim guns on attacking enemy troops, although wounded, himself. After his surviving men fought their way to his side and held the line in the face of heavy German assaults, Roxton refused evacuation, and commanded until he passed out from shock and loss of blood. Throughout, he had been exposed to heavy enemy fire and had lost three-quarters of his rifle company. But he had held a crucial portion of the British lines and denied the Germans the opportunity to breach the defenses and swarm into a lightly defended rear area.

Field Marshal Lord Haig, on presenting the coveted award noted, "This officer's extreme gallantry and devotion beyond the call of duty almost single-handedly enabled His Majesty's forces to prevail in one of the most bitterly contested encounters of this war. He was continually under the heaviest of fire, yet achieved bold deeds against the greatest of odds, and unquestionably saved countless Allied lives by holding his position in the face of daunting opposition."

Marguerite noticed the stress on his face as Roxton recounted the events of that horrible day, and she reached over and took his hand and squeezed it. He looked back at her and managed a wan smile.

Hamilton recounted his own tales of derring-do, and told how he had met Roxton in hospital as they recovered from wounds received during the commission of their valiant deeds. They had later served in staff positions in the same unit, and had gotten to know one another fairly well.

"Let's change the subject," suggested Blacklaws. "I see that this is causing our heroes to have unpleasant memories. Finn, tell us how you shot that running Tommy through the neck. Honestly, are you a trick shot, or was that happy coincidence?" He puffed at his pipe, looking with real curiosity at his young female client.

Finn looked up from her rum and tonic and grinned impishly. "I'd like to say that I can do that all the time," she admitted. "But what happened was that I led the gazelle like I was shooting a Mannlicher 6.5mm that I've used a lot. Rigby's high velocity 140 grain .275 bullet is faster, and it hit the neck, when I was expecting to hit the lungs. Also, the Tommy jumped just as I fired. But it was still a good shot, huh?" She smiled, remembering the way that the little antelope had folded on receiving her bullet. She knew that it had looked spectacular, and the memory of that clean kill on a running antelope would stay with her for the rest of her life.

"What am I, chopped meat?" demanded Marguerite. "My bullet hit just as I intended. Don't I get praise, too?" She managed to look huffy and put upon, denied her rightful place in the sun.

Veronica laughed. "It's all because Finny is blonde and you aren't, Marguerite!" And she howled with laughter, as did the others. They had all heard Marguerite's disparaging remarks about blondes, and delighted in seeing her squirm at Veronica's revenge.

"Seriously, Marguerite, I saw that shot, and it was splendid," said Blacklaws. "I was in fact very impressed. Would have said so, but your husband made that quite profound remark about the turtles and the stars, and I was sort of sidetracked by your response. Here, let me pour you another Scotch. You certainly earned a drink with that shot!" And he reached for the bottle of Dewar's.

Moussa motioned to Blacklaws that dinner was ready, and the boys brought venison chops and steaks with vegetables purchased in Nairobi. Red wine was served, a marvelous vintage of Chateau Latour. Everyone was very impressed with the cuisine, well presented, especially under the circumstances. Even the china and the tableware were quality items, as fine as one would see in a good London restaurant or private home.

Roxton swirled wine in his glass and held it so that light from the campfire glowed through the deep garnet color. He listened to the others and remembered the day and tasted the wine, and he felt more content than he had in some weeks.

Hamilton looked at the women as they chatted. The ladies had all changed for dinner, and instead of the Jodhpur trousers and tall boots of the day, wore skirts. Finn's khaki shirt had been exchanged for a soft cornflower blue blouse that tightened nicely over her breasts as she straightened, stretching tired muscles. She knew that Hamilton had noticed, but pretended not to care. She was often aware of his eyes on her, and wrote it off as simple male attraction. Biology in action. But he didn't seem to be paying that much attention to the other women, and this both bothered her and made her a bit smug that she was the one who drew his eye.

She listened as her husband outlined his plans for the morrow, about wanting to study some animals through binoculars before setting out traps for small mammals that might be new to science.

"We can do that, Professor," acknowledged Blacklaws. "The rest of us can scout for leopard along a riverbed not far off while you and Mrs. Challenger do that, and we'll meet for lunch. Then, in the afternoon, we'll shoot birds over a waterhole. I think we can promise you some fast and fancy shotgunning. Ever tried to hit a sand grouse when a flock of them flash past?"

"No, but I daresay that I am more intrigued with those francolin partridge that you mentioned earlier. Any hope of having a go at them? More meat per bird, and I want to have a close look at some. Lovely birds."

Blacklaws nodded. "By tomorrow, we'll be in good country for them. You will find very sporting shooting, and the larger, rather colorful, guinea fowl is cursed by having an abundance of delicious meat. Just the thing for the table."

"Good," said Ned Malone. "I brought a Winchester 12 gauge pump gun that I like on grouse and ducks, and I want to see how it does on African birds."

Hamilton said that he had seen some of these American shotguns. "Load it with heavy buckshot, and it makes a dandy backup gun for going after wounded leopard in thick cover, too. But lets' hope that no one wounds a leopard. That's the stuff of darkest nightmares."

Finn was sure that he knew what he meant, but the comment reminded her of her own darkest nightmares, and there wasn't a lot of comparison. Her whole world had once been a continuing nightmare, for the most part. She mentally whispered a prayer of thanksgiving for George Challenger having delivered her from that awful realm in New Amazonia into her present state of bliss.

Talk turned to their families, and the ladies got out photos of their children and showed them around as the fathers beamed with pride. "Roxton here isn't perfect," mentioned Marguerite, "but he does breed well. I wasn't awfully sure that I wanted children, but for him, I tried. I don't think I did too badly."

"Mother of the Year", laughed Roxton, and pulled her long black hair.

Marguerite yelped. "Well, if one has to create little monsters, ours are among the best. Naturally: I did bear them." She smirked at her immodest claim.

She handed round an album of the children. "The next Earl of Avebury there is John George Edward Roxton. Yes, the little varlet is named after my husband and these other men here swilling your wine, Geoff." She winked at Blacklaws, who grinned back and offered the bottle of Chateau Latour to any whose glasses were needful.

"The little girl, who I must say will someday be a ravishing beauty like her mother, is Elizabeth Nicole Roxton. Her middle name honors our beloved Finnykins here, whose real first name is Nicole." She nodded at Finn, who rose and curtsied, to general laughter.

"I'd have added Veronica's name, too, but we may have another daughter for that, and the name just didn't fit with Elizabeth. Sorry, Vee." She had taken to occasionally calling their former Treehouse hostess, "Vee", as Finn did, although she still generally disapproved of the nickname. "That's it for now. I'm 37, and rather hopeful that Muscles here will spare me another pregnancy, now that we know what causes it." She squeezed Roxton's arm, and smiled at him.

He looked fondly back at her, set his glass on the table, and took her hand. The love that flowed between them was almost tangible, and the others sat impressed with the intensity of this vital human emotion, silently expressed by this noble couple.

"This is going to be a tough act to follow," said Ned. But he showed photos of Veronica Elizabeth Malone and her little brother, Andrew George Malone. Both had his and their mother's fair hair, and looked healthy, happy, and mischievous.

Everyone "oohed" and "awweed" over them and Ned mentioned that he was looking foward to teaching Andrew to shoot and fish. "And to play baseball," he added. Two things that typified Ned Malone as the American that he so proudly was were his love of ice cream and his passion for baseball.

Finn went into her tent and returned with the Challenger photo album. It contained pictures of Arthur John George Challenger and his little sister, Caroline Elizabeth Challenger. (See, "Thunderbolt Over Burma" on this board for the adult adventures of these two. Their early teen years are depicted in, "Of Families, Shopping, and Shikar.")

"Normally," quipped Challenger, "I ask Finn not to show pictures of our offspring to ordinary mortals. The radiance surrounding them blinds some people. They are, after all, my children, and surely destined for great things." He chuckled to show that he was teasing.

Finn blushed and handed around the album, anyway. "Forgive George," she pleaded. "He is just trying to save you from blindness. But I think this present exalted company can bear to look briefly at our little nippers." Finn was becoming English to a considerable degree, and this was sometimes reflected in her speech.

Blacklaws looked dutifully at the children, feeling like a politician who has to admire his voters' kids. They were all lovely, all three sets of them. But other peoples' children were just children. Being male, he had limited interest.

Then, he saw another photo that raised his eyebrows and accelerated his heart. "What is this, a black jaguar?" He showed the book to Finn, who nodded.

"Johnny and Marguerite shot it. The ones with spots were shot by me or the Genius." They had all grown used to her pet name for her brilliant husband. "We saw quite a few in Brazil. The trick was to see them first. They sometimes eat people. That hurts! But they are beautiful, and I promise you, I got quite a thrill from shooting them at close range. I knew a few Indians who took them on with heavy spears. Not Prof. Challenger's little babe: I always used a gun!"

There were other photos, although none of dinosaurs. One photo of a T-rex egg was diplomatically explained away as being from a large native bird. The expedition had decided not to reveal even half of what they had found. They had concealed their taking much of the immense treasure of Xochilenque from all but select collectors, to whom Marguerite fenced their loot. (The tale of their expedition to the fierce Tecamaya city of Xochilenque was told in the fic, "The Crystal Skull", not now on the Net.)

In the distance, a lion roared, the first that they had heard on this trip. It was new to most of them, and the sound thrilled and terrified. "AhhhROAR! AAroughh! Gruff! Gruff! Gruff..."

Finn looked startled and asked Hamilton, "Should we call for our rifles?"

He shook his head. "That's a mile off, or close to it. The sound carries a long way on a still night. You'll get used to it. It's one of the sounds that typifies the African night. Another that will get to you at first is the insane giggle of hyenas on a kill. They sound like lunatics."

"I've long suspected that they vote Labour," Blacklaws joked. . "It would account for that sound. Takes a loony to vote Labour, I think."

That led to a discussion of politics that soon bored the Malones, who excused themselves. Not being British, this held little interest for them. And Ned wanted to get Veronica in his arms and thank her for having the children whose photos they had shown. He was tired, but there was something invigorating about the African night, and he wanted to see if it affected his wife the same way.

"Good night," wished Blacklaws. "If you hear something at the door of your tent around dawn, don't shoot. It will probably be your personal boy, with a pot of tea. That's called '_chai'_ in Swahili, by the way."

"If it growls instead of saying, _'Mimi letti chai, Bwana_,' you may want to think about shooting, after all," added Hamilton. "But if it's the tea chap, hold your fire. It's very bad form to shoot the boys on safari." He winked at Veronica, who smiled back.

"We'll be careful," promised Ned. "If anything growls in our tent by then, it'll probably just be my stomach, anyway."

"Oh, Neddy!" And his wife led him away before he could embarrass her any more. But she took his arm and kissed his cheek, for she did love him, and he was actually pretty funny...

The boys cleared away the dinner dishes and brought fruit for dessert. With it came tea, although no one drank much, as it would soon be time to retire for the night. Hunters needed to be up early, and it was already nine o'clock.

Within the hour, everyone called it a night, and drifted off to their tents.

Finn felt Hamilton's eyes on her and glanced back, trailing her husband. He was looking thoughtfully at her, and when he saw that she had seen him, he nodded pleasantly. Then, he turned to Blacklaws and resumed a conversation. If he felt guilty, he didn't show it. Maybe he was just looking in her direction, and she was reading too much into it...

The Challengers went into their tent, having bade the Roxtons, in the next, good night. As they undressed, they talked about plans for the morrow, and talked about which animals they especially wanted to collect.

"I want to see one of those big crocodiles," Challenger offered. "They say that some exceed 20 feet. That must be an awesome reptile, not that we didn't see a few American crocs nearly that long on the Plateau."

They heard muffled feminine laughter coming from the next tent. and Roxton's deeper voice saying something. "Sounds like they're up late," quipped Challenger. "Probably discussing whether to buy a yacht when they get home. I say, Finn, I was joking, but if sales of my inventions continue to improve, we may really be able to buy one. Would you like that?"

She thought, pulling off her taupe skirt and folding it on a footlocker near her bed. "It'd take a lot of upkeep, and we'd need to hire a crew and learn to sail, ourselves. We could probably use the money better for something else."

"What else do we reasonably want?", he countered. "We already have about all that our hearts desire, or will. There would be enough money."

"I came from nothing, George. I'm scared to waste money. And we can build some more on our home. I want to stash what we have left of the gold and jewels from Xochilenque, in case of a rainy day. I'll think about the boat. We can see what one the size you want would cost. Maybe we could sail it around and do things like this, if we could leave it in some harbor. I want to do some deep sea fishing, and you can do some marine studies. If we write about our travels and make those movies that I want to do, maybe we could write off some of the yacht as a business expense. We could make the boat famous, as the travelling headquarters for our adventures. But what about Arthur and Caroline? I already miss them."

"A good point," Challenger admitted. "We'd need to take the trips while school is out for the summer. We'll think more, and get some prices. But consider it. I think it might be fun, and we might be able to sell at a profit after a few years."

Finn agreed, and turned out the light, which had left them silhouetted to some degree, visible to those outside.

Challenger tied the tent flaps shut. "Not as cool this way, but more secure," he noted. "And nights here at this altitude can be cold." He got into bed, setting his flashlight and his Colt .45 Single-Action Army revolver near to hand.

Finn tried to sleep, but the handsome, calm, very masculine face of Maj. Stuart Hamilton, D.S.O., M.C. (and Bar) haunted her. She flushed and ran her hands down her body. She felt her nipples engorge, and she flexed her legs. She realized that she was breathing harder than normal. Then, an idea struck her.

She rolled out of bed and crept across the three feet separating her cot from her husband's. "Move over, Genius," she ordered, "I'm cold."

He let her slide in beside him and caressed her, discovering that she wore only bikini panties.

"Put something on," he suggested.

"I plan to," she snickered. "You. Feel up to some hanky-panky?"

He considered, loving the way that her hands sought his body and the things that she did to it. "Um, these tents aren't like wooden or stone walls. We should have to be quiet."

"I'm not a 'screamer'," she pointed out. "Unless maybe when you do to me what you do down there with your mouth when I'm really horny." He couldn't see her face well in the dark, but knew with certainty that she was blushing. After six years of this girl in his bed, Challenger knew her inside and out. Not that she didn't have new twists from time to time...

She handed him something soft that felt like satin in the dark. "Here, Muscles, put my knickers under your pillow, where we can find them when that black guy comes at the crack of dawn, with tea."

"Finn, do you realize that you just referred to your brief nether garment as knickers? What about panties? Are you becoming acclimatized to being British?" He chuckled, stroking her shoulder length blonde hair.

She snuggled next to him. "Yeah, I'm seriously working on that. Maybe I'll call them panties if I'm talking to Ned and Vee. For the rest of us, I'm the new Limey on the block, as of almost four years now. I may as well try to sound like it. Anyway, whatever I call them, they're off. You have my last bit of clothing in your hand. What are you gonna do about it, big boy?" She nibbled at the base of his ear, and Challenger tucked the 'knickers' beneath his pillow and addressed himself to his mate's lust.

After almost an hour, with both trying hard not to make more noise than necessary, they climaxed and lay in one another's arms.

"Umm, Genius. That hit the spot!" Finn giggled and arranged herself as she often did, with her back and legs against Challenger's front. She arched her hips back, into snug contact with his groin and rubbed it briefly, moving up and down, rocking her pelvis, half arousing him. But they knew one another well enough to know that she wanted merely to offer a parting tender gesture. They would soon sleep.

When she was sure that Challenger slumbered, Finn went to her cot and recovered her blanket, arranging it over them. She snuggled against her man again and sighed. I'm a happy broad, she mused. But I feel guilty that I let myself get in the mood for this by thinking about another guy. Oh, well: George got the benefit of my getting all wet inside. Wives have done worse.

But she still felt guilty as she drifted off to sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

Dawn came early, with someone scratching at the tent flaps.

_"Bwana? Mem'Sahib? Mimi letti chai!"_

Finn half woke, wishing that she could shoot the personal boy for coming so early. But their hunter had said that this was very bad form. Probably illegal too, dammit. She nudged Challenger in the ribs with her elbow, staggered out of bed and reached for her robe. At least, this infernal interruption came with tea. My god, she thought, I've become British. I'll tell Marguerite. It'll probably shock her...

She stubbed her toe in the dark, and muttered an obscene phrase in Brazilian Portuguese. Okay, she admitted, maybe I'm not fully British yet, after all.

At breakfast, they discussed the forthcoming day. Malone wanted to do some wing shooting, but was told that the birds would be much easier to hunt when they came to water in the afternoon.

"Come with me and shoot a zebra for lion bait," suggested Roxton. We'll drag it behind the car for awhile, so that lions can scent it and follow the trail. We'll let them feed on it and shoot any good trophy examples that show up."

"Just shows that it doesn't pay in the long run to accept welfare," deadpanned Marguerite. This drew some chuckles, even from Veronica, who thought the idea was disgusting, if a little exciting. Sort of like some of Ned's requests in bed...She colored at that thought.

"Can I come?" Finn wanted to know. "I want to film that. I want to make some nature and hunting movies. People back home would love to see that."

The hunters and Roxton agreed, and Challenger wanted to accompany his wife. Not only did he want to be sure that she was safe; he had developed a new film coating that should enhance resolution and retard degeneration of the film. He wanted to see the product in use, to determine the conditions under which it was employed. He also felt that he might be able to refine motion picture cameras, overall.

"I want to shoot a kudu, the big one with the long corkscrew horns," declared Lady Roxton. "Geoff, will you take me out for that? Or, can we do it on the way back from this other adventure?"

Blacklaws looked at her husband inquiringly.

"Dammit, I asked a question of you, not of my husband," Marguerite barked. "Am I incapable of functioning on my own? Must I have the Earl's approval for everything?"

"Well, ma'am," began Blacklaws, not wanting to get caught between the Roxtons, but wanting the husband's approval before he guided a wife separately...

"Marguerite, Geoff needs to keep things proper, and he means no harm. You know perfectly well that a husband has a say in such matters. Geoff, take her wherever she wants to go, if it'll make her happy. If she isn't happy, none of us will be happy."

"Boy, I know how that feels," muttered Malone. Veronica arched an eyebrow and decided to speak to him about that later. For now, she didn't want to add fuel to the growing fire.

"So, I can go hunt kudu without my mighty master, the Earl of Avebury?" Marguerite still had some mad left to use up.

Roxton nodded. "If you feel safe. I'll miss you, but if that's what you'd rather do..."

"Actually," explained Blacklaws, " although we may get lucky and kill a kudu in these hills or on the savannah, there's a much better locale for large ones about 40 miles on. We were planning to go by there tomorrow, before we call in on Angus Hardy and his family that evening. But we can go see what turns up. You can shoot today if you see a decent example, Marguerite, and you have others on your license if you spot a better trophy later."

"So, I can have my cake and eat it, too?"

Blacklaws laughed. "Yes, that fits, I suppose. And kudu are very good eating, too, come to that. But we may come up empty handed. This really isn't the right place to find many of them."

"That's why hunting is called hunting," retorted the brunette woman. "If you really can't find any, so be it. We'll have had fun looking. Is there a river where I can swim?"

Hamilton shook his head. "Afraid not. Not a lot of us ever swim here. Hippos, crocs, water cobras, and other hazards are too prevalent. Hippos look funny, but they kill more people in Africa every year than lions and elephants put together."

"What about warthogs?" asked Blacklaws. "I know for sure that there are usually some around this area. And if you mount them with the mouth open, it looks very imposing. Just the thing to start tongues wagging when your guests see them back home."

Marguerite considered. "All right. I'll shoot a piggy. Maybe I can make one into a bank. Has anyone done that?

Challenger rolled his eyes. "Trust you to think of a new concept, Marguerite. Have some respect for the animals that you shoot. I've never been too keen on those fellows who make a wastebasket or an umbrella stand from rhino or elephant legs. But if you do a full mount, not just a head, a warthog is quite imposing. I want to put a full mount in our family museum at the estate in Kent."

Finn brightened. "Yeah! We can charge admission when we get enough animals on display there."

Challenger shook his head. "We shan't need to, Darling, and it violates our privacy, and lets the common folk see too much of our home. Some might come back and try to break in and take something. But the children and their friends will like it. As they grow older, it will help to educate them, also."

"I guess you're right," Finn agreed. "But I want to show some of the animals at places where I lecture and show movies. It will help to pack in audiences."

Challenger looked dubious, so she added. "If you want a yacht, Genius, that thing will eat money like rabbits eat carrots. And I want to feel that I can earn my own way, even if I am Mrs. You."

"If I get back before the rest of you heroes, I want a bath and for someone to wash my hair," Marguerite stated.

Blacklaws nodded. "No worries there. Your personal boy will do that. That's among the services provided. Mrs. Malone, er, Veronica? What's your pleasure today?"

Veronica looked at Ned. "Let's go look at Finny make movies of lions smelling dead zebras. It sounds awful, but I bet it's exciting, and I want to see. I don't really want to do anything else special."

Ned nodded, and they had that issue settled.

Finn noticed that Challenger's cup was empty and rose. "Anyone else want more coffee?" she asked.

Blacklaws looked mildly shocked. "Mrs. Challenger, please sit back down. Juma! _Letti caffe kwa Bwana Challenger_! The boys will do that for you. You don't have to step and fetch things for yourselves. This is a high class safari operation. We'll see to your needs. After all, you wouldn't expect to go after coffee at home, would you?"

Marguerite and Roxton laughed. "Actually, she probably would. Finn has been spoiling George for years. She dotes on the man. Wait until you see her butter his bread. That's quite touching. She has it bad for our esteemed professor." And Roxton winked at his "little sister."

Finn smirked. "That only seems strange to you because you don't have the Love Affair of the Centuries, Marguerite," she said triumphantly. And with that, she did butter a slice of toast and offer it to her man.

"Hmmm," said Hamilton. "Fancy that. I was rather hoping to have the love affair of all time, myself, with Diana. But she's never done that for me. Clearly, I shall have to ask Finn to train my wife."

"You jolly well should," said Challenger enthusiastically. "I can tell you, a wife like this makes a man feel ten feet tall."

"Don't bump your head on the ceiling, George," admonished Marguerite with a smile.

Juma had almost reached the table when he stopped short and looked down, his black face going gray. The tray in his hands began shaking, and the noise caused the whites at the table to look his way. When they saw the direction of his gaze, they knew what had frightened him.

A large puff adder (_Bitis arietans_) lay within a foot of his feet. Any move on his part, and the deadly snake would strike. It coiled rapidly, reared back its head, and made a noise like a steam engine with a hole in it. Juma looked as if he was about to faint.

"Don't move, Juma!" said Blacklaws, unnecessarily. He looked concerned, his mind obviously racing.

Marguerite saw what was happening and felt frustrated that she was unarmed. Her rifle was 20 feet away, and unloaded. No one at the table had a gun. Did they? How long would it take to call for someone to come with one? And would a black bringing a gun know how to shoot it? Even the gun bearers just loaded and cleaned them. They didn't shoot them. One might well blow off Juma's foot instead of shooting the snake.

Then, Finn stood, slowly, trying not to create any vibration. Alone of the whites, she had worn her handgun to breakfast. Her gun belt held her hunting knife, spare cartridges, and her Smith & Wesson Military & Police Model .38 revolver. Identical to the gun that she had captured from a slaver on the Plateau where she had once lived, it had replaced that one in field use. The original gun, like some of her other items, was used now only occasionally at home, for recreational shooting and as a memento of her days in Amazonia. She had bought a pair of the same model to serve in its stead, and she was good with them. She could hit the snake in its head if it held still. It was only some ten feet from her to the coiled serpent.

Finn was a skilled markswoman, and could often group all six shots from her .38 into one ragged hole on a 25 yard bull's-eye target. She had the requisite talent to kill the snake. But what if it struck as she shot or just after, reacting to the bullet? It might still bite Juma or swing the other way and hit Blacklaws, who was sitting on that side of the table. She wanted to get in a brain shot, but the angle from her to the snake was wrong for that.

She knew the puff adder well, having been "drilled" on tropical African reptiles by Challenger and Roxton long before the trip. And she had become an amateur naturalist of some marque. She knew from experience that dying snakes could still bite, if only through muscle contraction. Many people had been seriously envenomated when handling one.

Finn drew her .38, and looked inquiringly at Blacklaws and at Hamilton. The former stood and moved behind the puff adder. He waved his camp chair at it, and it instantly flicked back and struck the chair leg. "Now, Finn, _piga_! I mean shoot!"

The sound of the shot came on the heel of his words, and she ran around the table and placed a second shot squarely in the brain of the squirming intruder, which had been knocked away from Juma's foot by the impact of the 158 grain (weight) lead bullet traveling at some 860 feet per second. .

Roxton sprang up and went behind his wife's chair and took Juma by the sleeve and pulled him away from the contorting dead snake.

"Watch that you don't spill the coffee, there, Juma, eh? There's a good fellow. I want a cup of that, myself. Marguerite, get up and let Juma have your chair for a moment, please. He looks a trifle green around the gills."

"My chair?" the former heiress exclaimed. "Why can't he have your bloody chair?" But, seeing the look on her man's face, she stood and offered the chair as Roxton took the tray and set it on the table. Then, he helped the shaking Kikuyu "boy" to sit.

A Wakamba tracker came running up. He saw what had happened, and drew his native sword, in the Masai style. He walked over and beheaded the snake.

Blacklaws spoke to him in Swahili. "Take that thing away. And have someone lead Juma away so that Mem'Sahib Roxton can have her chair back. We'll be sure first that he wasn't bitten."

And he came around the table with the Challengers and all studied Juma's feet and lower legs to be sure that he was unharmed. Roxton spoke to him gently in Swahili, which he had acquired to some degree before the war, and which he had brushed up on before this trip.

Finn's sympathetic feminine voice helped even more to calm the frightened African, and he looked gratefully at her. Then, he put his hands together and bowed deeply to her and said something too rapidly for Roxton to follow.

Marguerite translated. "He thanks you for his life. He says that this snake kills by venom that causes great pain and almost always causes death if it injects a full bite. He lives by your hand, and he will be eternally grateful. He says that you are brave for a woman, and a skilled shooter. He thanks Ngai, that means God to him, for your kindness. He is sorry to have caused a stir. Please forgive him not having brought out the coffee and served without a fuss like this. He hopes that Bwana Blacklaws and Bwana Hamilton will forgive him for having brought this trouble upon us."

"Good heavens, Marguerite, I had no idea that you spoke Swahili," said Blacklaws. "Why didn't you say so?"

"You didn't ask. I'm not one to tell my secrets, especially when it might seem like bragging. But I speak several languages, including English. And, in English, I fancy some more coffee. Is it still hot, do you suppose?"

"We'll soon see. If you'll take your husband's chair I'll pour you a cup, and we'll get this camp back to normal. Juma, go lie down for awhile. Let me know when you feel ready to get back to work. You've had a rough time."

_"Asante sana, Bwana_," said Juma. (Thanks very much, Bwana.) And he let the cook lead him away, a concerned look on his face.

Finn had reloaded, and taken her seat as soon as she saw that Juma was calming down. Then, she saw the coffeepot and poured Challenger a cup.

"Thanks awfully, Darling," he said. "I did, in fact want another cup."

"I can't believe you Limeys,"said Ned Malone. He was still excited by what he had just seen. "George, you're just sitting there letting Finn pour you a cup like nothing has happened."

Challenger chuckled. "Finn has been taking excellent care of me for some time, Ned. If I need coffee, she won't let a little thing like a dangerous snake get in her way."

"Finn," said Hamilton. "I definitely want you to meet my fiancée, Diana. Teach her how to tend to me like you do to George, and I'll do my best to see that you find and shoot the lion of your dreams." He smiled, but she thought that he might be serious.

"I must say," interjected Blacklaws, "I wondered if that revolver was more than an affectation. Most people out here don't wear one, not regularly. Looks as if one has seen too many American cowboy movies. Mind you, I keep one handy in the tent at night. Thankfully, I haven't had occasion to use it yet. But you were really good and quick. Good thing that you were wearing that gun."

Finn blushed slightly under this praise. "I aim to please," she punned. "And that snake had it coming. He got in the way of my getting the Genius his coffee." She leaned over and kissed Challenger's cheek.

They began discussing snakes, and Veronica looked under the table, just to be sure that only one would interrupt them this morning.

Hamilton opened the silver serving plate and used his fork to spear another venison chop, then offered those and scrambled eggs all around. Challenger and Malone accepted. Marguerite smiled at Roxton, who poured her another cup of coffee.

When they had eaten, they loaded the items that they would need into the safari trucks, and Hamilton paused to study Finn Challenger.

She looked lovely, in a light blue short- sleeved shirt and tailored shorts. She wore tan desert boots, what the Boers called, "_veldtschoen_", with tall tan socks. The shorts were narrower and more snugly fitted in the rear than were most shorts in this day, and it was clear to any man who looked that Mrs. Challenger had a shapely rear end as well as the legs to go nicely with it. The shorts were longer than what she had worn on the Plateau where she had met her friends, but they still showed more leg than most respectable women did. She appeared unconcerned, and her friends seemed not to notice. In fact, she was respectable, if daring.

The other ladies wore knee length skirts, with a white blouse for Veronica and a lavender one for Marguerite. The men were in khaki trousers and light blue shirts. Roxton wore much what he had in South America, save that his crocodile hide vest had been replaced by a new khaki one, with loops for cartridges and pockets for small items like his compass.

And all of the clients wore pistols now. A bit American Frontier, thought the hunter, but after that snake this morning, he wasn't going to tease them

CHAPTER FOUR

Hamid al Kazim looked at the telegram that he had decoded. As personal secretary to the Sultan of Ammarah, he had the key to the Sultan's private code. Only the Sultan and he knew how to decipher such encrypted messages. And this one held news that his employer and ruler would welcome. Kazim was pleased to be the messenger.

He tapped politely at the door of the Sultan's sitting room, where his ruler was, he knew, reclining on soft pillows as he was entertained by two of his favorite girls from the harem. The Sultan had the allowable four wives, and actually cared deeply for two of them, but liked to pass time in the company of his slaves, also.

His mid-morning dalliance with them was among his favorite practices when Royal duties allowed. He claimed that it prepared him for a more pleasant lunch, and eased his cares.

"Enter," bade the monarch of Amarrah, a nation on the Gulf of Arabia.

Kazim came in, genuflecting to show his appreciation of his status before his head of state. He did this with some degree of casualness, for he was an old and trusted servant. But the basic attitude needed to be demonstrated...

"Yes?" inquired the Sultan. "Kazim, sit and speak. Jasmine, see that my secretary has some of those grapes."

"Yes, master," purred the beautiful Chinese girl. She wore harem garb with diaphanous pants, a gold-trimmed red vest, and no bra. One of her ankles was chained to an iron ring in the marble floor, to insure that she did not depart if the Sultan had to leave the room. She had a platter of melons, grapes, and other good things to eat before her, and had been feeding grapes to the Sultan.

The other girl, Sheila, had been allowed to retain her British name as a slave name. She had been reading aloud from a book of Omar Khayyam's poetry. She was costumed as Jasmine, except that her pants and vest were blue instead of red. Her perfume enchanted the senses. She lowered her eyes and knelt as Kazim looked upon her with appreciation. She had blonde hair, worn as her master desired this day, in a ponytail. She had been kidnapped two years before in Greece, where she had been part of a tour group. Jasmine was one of nine Chinese girls sold to the Sultan by a war lord in her own land. Both served with alacrity, knowing that they would be disciplined if they were found to be insolent, ungraceful, or otherwise unpleasing.

Kazim said, "Great One, Ruler of our Paradise Upon Earth, I have private news that will much please your imperial self." He whispered into his master's ear.

Sultan Abdullah Ibn Ahmed bin Hakim al Rashid heard and his eyes widened. He struck the gong at his side. "Guards!" he summoned.

Jasmine and Sheila looked at one another, frightened. "Master? " pleaded Sheila, who was a favorite girl, "Have we displeased you? I beg you, let us atone, and tell us how we may satisfy you!"

Rashid didn't respond to her, but waited until two men in tan uniforms and turbans in the distinctive checkered pattern of aqua and white, Amarrah's national colors, came to his side. They wore brown boots, the color of the belts and holsters at their waists. Their pistols were Lugers, and a jambiya dagger was thrust into the belt of each. One carried a short slave whip, in case a girl needed to be punished.

"Handcuff these slaves and take them into the next room," he commanded. "Shackle them to the ring on the far side, that they may not approach the door to this room. I do not wish to have them eavesdrop. Shut the connecting door, too, of course. Then, return to your posts."

One guard motioned to Sheila to rise, and took out his cuffs. She obediently placed her hands behind her back and turned gracefully. She heard the other guard snapping bracelets on Jasmine's wrists, and then the ring to her ankle was unlocked and she was taken out, bending forward, led by the hair.

When the guards were done and they had the room to themselves, the Sultan poured coffee for Kazim and demanded, "Tell me all. You have my undivided attention."

"Highness, Radiance of the Sun, I hardly know where to begin. But you well recall that English girl, Marguerite, whose escape so angered your beloved father? Well, our friend in Kenya, the merchant Khalid, says that he has seen a woman on safari there who he is almost certain is her. She is in fact called Marguerite, but is now married to the Earl of Avebury."

"And?" The Sultan leaned forward, eager for more.

"Highness, he proposes to seize this woman, who is now in her mid or late 30's, but well preserved and still beautiful, and offer her to you for the reward which you once proclaimed. He wishes to be sure that it is still in effect. Or, that you will otherwise pay well for her to be brought into your presence."

He added that Kazim went into detail, mentioning that for a suitable sum, he could probably also provide an American girl and the wife of a British scientist, both blonde girls in their 20's, and perhaps the fiancée of one of the white hunters. If the safari went near her father's farm before he struck, Diana Hardy might as well be added to the bag. She was described as lovely, barely 19, and with dark chestnut hair. She was well known to Khalid, who had seen her in Nairobi on numerous occasions. He had already entertained the idea of her abduction and this was as good a time as any.

The Sultan asked again to be told why Khalid thought this wife of an Earl was the very girl who had fled his father. Reminded that Khalid had seen her on many occasions and that she had danced a few feet from him and fed him grapes from her hands, the ruler nodded.

"Marguerite was not a girl to be easily forgotten. Even if this is not her, it would please me to hold the wife of a peer of their infidel realm in my harem, and to feel her squirm beneath me in my lust. These others also seem a worthwhile purchase. The American President, Theodore Roosevelt, sent ships against my father to recover an American girl whom he rightfully owned. She had to be given up to the infidels, along with all others who were native English speakers. For this, I do not love the Americans. They have become too proud, and they have long offended Arab nations, from the days when their Navy raided the Barbary Coast. And they supported Britain in the Great War, in which my esteemed father was slain. Yes, I want this Veronica girl, and the professor's wife, and the white settler girl."

He sipped coffee as Kazim waited patiently, knowing that his ruler was thinking. The secretary was used to Rashid's mannerisms.

After some 20 minutes, Rashid lifted a hand. "Take some notes, Secretary. Tell our friend in Kenya that we accept. If the brunette girl is indeed the right Marguerite, I will recall her. So will you and others here. If so, I will pay the sum of 20,000 pounds in either English money or gold, whichever Khalid desires.

"If the girl is not the right one, but is attractive and worth keeping, I will give 10,000 pounds, the same fee for each of the other girls. They are to be brought directly to me; I will not put them on the sales block until I see whether I wish to retain them for my own use."

He continued. "If this is Marguerite, she will face a horrible fate. I will either slay her slowly and with great misery, or I will punish her as is suitable for a runaway slave girl who has been recovered. She may possibly live if I am merciful, but only if she pleases me. Sometimes, she will be taken naked in public before observers who wish to see Britain diminished in the Middle East. As the wife of an Earl, she will be worth her cost, even if she is not the slut who escaped. The others, it will also amuse me to own. How soon can Khalid deliver them?"

"Highness, he says that he must await the right moment to strike, but thinks that the new slaves can be shipped from Mombasa or from Malindi within a week. They can kneel, trembling before you, by the end of this month. He can also ship almost twice as much ivory as he usually does."

Rashid let his teeth show as he smiled a villainous grin. "Let it be so, Kazim. Tell Khalid that he is to deliver the girls to me. If they are exceptional, I may pay a little more. But he will not get less than I have mentioned." (The sums mentioned bought far more then than in the 21st Century.)

Kazim rose. "Salaam, Effendi. I will convey your message." He bowed and left.

Rashid thought more, feeling very pleased. He clanged the gong and had the guards return the English and Chinese girls to what they had been doing before his secretary had come. He was more excited about the near future than he had been in many a day. Truly, fortune had smiled upon him.

CHAPTER FIVE

Finn aimed her motion picture camera at a pride of lions feeding on the carcass of a zebra that had run afoul of a .318 Westley Richards bullet from one of Roxton's rifles. The camera was mounted on a tripod for steadiness.

She cranked the camera from the safety of the car, Blacklaws sitting beside her with a rifle in hand. Another safari car loitered in the background, so as not to disturb the lions. Hamilton was at the steering wheel of Finn's car, ready to accelerate if a lion came too close. They wanted to avoid shooting any lions that weren't selected for that, as good trophies. Lionesses and younger lions were safe, as long as they didn't become too serious a threat.

Finn was allowed to film from the car, although the hunters had pointed out that both law and custom proscribed shooting animals from one. Not sporting, you see. The hunter must risk death or injury. Only a cowardly dolt would fire from the safety of a vehicle, even when shooting ordinary meat animals. Just not done, you see. Not the proper pukka sahib approach. So went the explanation when Ned had asked. His question had earned him scornful looks from both hunters. The gauche American, said their faces. (Note: it is also illegal in modern times to hunt from a car in most US states.)

Hamilton eased the car around so that Finn could film from different angles. When she had exposed as much film as she wished, they pulled slowly away from the lions, who gave them baleful looks in parting. But none had gone for the car, and no ammunition had been expended

The cars joined one another, and Finn sprang out, telling Roxton, Challenger, and the Malones how excited she was at the footage that she had just filmed. "This will really thrill movie audiences back home!" she exulted.

She received congratulations, and the cars moved on to a nearby village, where Blacklaws hoped to hire a local scout who would know where buffalo were at this time. He would probably have a good idea where exceptional bulls could be found.

Soon, seated in the village, the hunters palavered with the chief. They exchanged formal speech, inquiring after crops and the health of children, etc., before serious negotiations could begin. Custom had to be honored.

As the professionals negotiated, Roxton entertained the others with tales of the African frontier. He told of John Boyes, who had gone among the Kikuyu in the old days, trading with treacherous people whom most whites then avoided. Miraculously, he had survived, and become well to do from the relationship that he established with them.

He talked, too, of W.D.M. "Karamojo" Bell, who had shot over 1100 elephants, and become wealthy from the sale of ivory in the days before game laws had restricted the number of elephant that a person could legally shoot. Others had shot many elephant, too, but Bell was famed for using light rifles, such as others reserved for smaller antelope, leopard and similar game. Those favoring large bore (caliber) rifles had scoffed at him, but others supported his writing. They were in camps referred to as "large bores" and "small bores", based on the calibers they favored.

Bell had drolly quipped, "I hope that I'm not a 'bore' at all."

When Roxton quoted that line he received the predictable laughs, then someone proposed making tea. This was universally approved and they did that.

A boy called Jomo served, and they were sipping tea and eating cookies when a native ran up hollering something that seemed urgent.

The white hunters heard, and ran over. "He says that baboons are chasing some women in the fields. One has been badly bitten. The women are afraid to return to the fields. We're needed there." Hamilton asked for volunteers, and the Challengers, Marguerite, and Ned leaped aboard one of the cars and they were off in a flurry of dust.

They found a troop of baboons in the open, threatening, making short rushes toward a group of women who were cowering in and just below a tree.

"Ned, why don't you have a go at that lot with your new Winchester?" suggested Blacklaws.

Malone had brought a Winchester M-54 from the States, chambered for a new cartridge, the .270 Winchester. It had only been available for three years, but had a good reputation among those who had used it in North America. The 130 grain bullet was very effective on deer, pronghorn, and similar animals, and was becoming well liked by those who hunted mountain sheep. But the .270 was new in Africa, and Blacklaws was curious to see how it would fare against hyenas and similar game, not to mention the smaller buck that they shot for food

They bailed out of the vehicle, staggering themselves in a line so as to get a wide variety of angles in shooting at the troop. The baboons had seldom seen a car, yet were apprehensive. They were within 125 yards, and easily saw the people, and some did know what Europeans with guns meant.

One old male barked an alarm call, cut short by a bullet from Marguerite's .275. She had decided to accompany her friends, and had been angered by the baboons' attack on the helpless women, who had a hard enough job in tending the crops. Moreover, if pests were not kept in check, the natives would starve. Her heart went out to the villagers, and she settled her rifle sights on the big simian and pressed the trigger.

He leaped into the air with a frightful yelp, and fell dead.

Finn and Malone shot several others, as did Blacklaws. Malone made a fine running shot on one, and saw with satisfaction that the .270 was indeed an effective caliber. The bullet was so fast, over 3,000 feet per second according to Winchester, that very little lead was required on running animals at this range, and his first two running shots actually went ahead of the baboons. Then, he guessed the right lead, and bowled over two more before they ran out of range and got into the woods around a kopje. (Hill.)

Marguerite got the first aid kit from the car, and they went over to the screaming, weeping women and treated the slashes and bites that several had. The women wailed and two prostrated themselves on the ground, blessing Marguerite and her friends. "_Asante sana, Mem'Sahib"_ was much heard. Very many thanks, white lady.

Ned looked with wonder and satisfaction at the baboons that he had killed. The .270 had been so effective that he decided to use it on larger animals. Hamilton guessed his thoughts and said, "Hit any meat animals in the lungs with that, Ned. We don't want good meat being bloodshot. And don't ask to use that small bullet on buffalo or anything larger."

Ned protested. "It's basically about like your 7mm or .275, just a lighter, faster bullet."

"Yes, well, I don't shoot buff, rhino, or elephant with a .275, either," answered the hunter. "But I'd like to see how your new American caliber will fare on kudu or sable antelope. Perhaps we shall have the opportunity. But I have grave doubts about that 130 grain bullet if you take a raking, cross-body shot on animals of that size. "

Spearmen and archers had now arrived, and would stay the afternoon, to protect the women as they worked. The warriors would not work in the fields themselves, as that was women's' work. The distinction along these lines was very clear in most African tribes. But in those days, even American and western European women were in no danger of confusing their role options with those of their men. Challenger was ahead of his time in giving Finn so much freedom in her writing and photography, for which she was grateful. Still, it irritated her to see the laziness of most African men, many of whom did little but drink beer and talk of their former glory days when the tribes were at constant war. Herding the domestic animals fell mainly to the young boys and teens.

Finn made a sarcastic comment about that, but Marguerite shushed her. "These people aren't just black versions of us, Finny. Their customs and beliefs are very different. We need to get along with them. Bloody heathens! But we aren't going to change them anytime soon."

Finn grumbled, but saw the point and said no more as they returned to the village. They talked about their adventure as they returned to their tea and snacks, with sandwiches made by the kitchen boy.

"Did you see the teeth on those baboons?" marveled Marguerite. "Those are pretty scary. I'd hate to meet one of those fellows in a dark alley!"

Blacklaws agreed. "Yes, they're quite dangerous, and are sometimes very aggressive. I daresay that we taught them a lesson today. But even a leopard fears those teeth. Several of those big baboons will see a cat off very shortly, if the leopard has any sense. But leopards also kill many of them. If they can get one alone, or a young one, the leopard probably has dinner at hand. Leopards are their main predator, and there's no love lost between the two species. You should see a troop of baboons demonstrating if they see a leopard. Pretty noisy. Lots of acrobatics."

"A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing," quoted Marguerite. She was well versed in Shakespeare.

"Oh, no, Marguerite," corrected Hamilton. "It does mean something. Most things that animals do definitely mean something. Maybe you'll learn that while you're here. Safari can be quite an education."

"Are you or Geoff educated enough about animals that you can get me a shot at a kudu today?"

He smiled. "Touché. Well, we'll give it a go. But I think we'd better head back to camp for your _bathi_ and that hair wash before dinner. But we might just manage to let you pop a warthog on the way. There are quite a few about here. Have your rifle ready."

"Oh," Marguerite smirked, "my guns are always loaded. It's just you boys who sometimes have trouble getting one to go off!" She leered lewdly at Hamilton, who blushed scarlet at her pun.

"Marguerite!" stormed her husband. "That's hardly ladylike talk!"

"I know," she admitted, "but men are so easy to tease. It's one of my favorite sports."

Halfway to camp, they did spy a warthog trotting along, and Marguerite slapped a 175 grain .275 bullet through its shoulder. The pig squealed, collapsed, and took a second bullet in the neck before it died.

_"Piga m'zuri sana, Mem'Sahib!"_ grinned her gun bearer. (Very good shot, lady.)

Marguerite smiled triumphantly. "It's about time that I took a real shot at a male chauvinist pig instead of limiting myself to verbal jabs!" Her husband and the other men rolled their eyes, looked at each other, and said nothing.

She was astounded by the long ivory tusks that Hamilton told her might have done vicious work on her had she come to grips with the animal. Warthogs were tough, and most beasts left them alone. Even so, lions and leopards often fed on them.

"We'll have pork with applesauce for dinner from this," said Blacklaws. "You'll find it leaner and better tasting than domestic pork and you can be proud of a clean kill, and of bringing it to bag. The mount will look very impressive, too. Those tusks are nice ones."

In camp, they ate a snack to tide them over until supper, and Marguerite had her bath in the canvas tub. _"Mimi letti hotti mojo, Mem'Sahib,"_ said the personal boy, letting her know that the hot bath water was ready.

After luxuriously toweling off, she sat in a camp chair in her robe while Juma shampooed her hair. "I could get used to this. I dote on indolent luxury," she proclaimed. And no one who knew her would dispute that!

Roxton walked over quietly, motioned Juma away, and took over the task, his eyes twinkling and a smile on his face. Juma was puzzled and a bit offended. He looked to Blacklaws for guidance. That worthy called him over and told him that white men were strange this way. Washing one's wife's hair was not seen as demeaning, but as romantic. Juma walked away, shaking his head. Truly, whites were strange creatures.

"Ah, I'd know those fingers wherever they fondle me," quipped Marguerite. "Roxton, those are your hands, not the boy's. Just keep them in my hair while we're out here on public display. I embarrass easily."

He jerked her sable tresses playfully in response, poured water from a metal jug through her hair until it was clear of shampoo, and kissed her as she sat up. "There," he said. "Your hair is clean. It's your lascivious mind that I'm worried about." He began toweling her hair dry, Marguerite making purring noises as he worked.

She stood when he was done and held him close. "Thank you, John. That was so sweet. If I have to be out here in the middle of nowhere, waiting to be eaten by a lion or speared by some savage, it's you that I want washing my hair."

Finn, embarrassed a little by their intimacy, checked Challenger's hair. She had cut it for years, although he patronized a favorite barber when in London. Here, she would trim it herself, if need be. But it looked good, having been serviced a week ago in the ship's barber salon.

She walked over, sat on his lap, and said, "Hey, Genius. I just know that that film we shot today is going to look great. Tomorrow, I want to get some still pictures of snakes and other stuff. Want to come?"

He nodded and started to say something when Hamilton walked quickly over. He had been in deep conversation with the Wakamba tracker who had beheaded the snake that morning.

"Finn, how serious are you about wanting to shoot a lion? This fellow says that there is one of the largest black-maned examples that he has ever seen just over a hill to our left. The old boy is lying under a tree, napping, with his lionesses on guard. Are you quite sure that you want to do this? It's going to need steady nerves. If he comes for you, I'll fire, too, but an angry lion is hard to stop. Roxton, will you back us up, also? Geoff needs to stay here and organize dinner, if possible."

Finn stood, looked Challenger in the eye, and turned to the hunter.

"Stuart, I'm dead serious about it. As opposed to just being dead, which I may be, if I don't do this right. Which rifle should I use?"

"Which do you feel most comfortable with?" he asked. "The .375 or the .400?" The .400 was a W. & J. Jeffery .450/.400 double-barreled rifle. The other was a Holland & Holland bolt-action.

"What's the likely range?" Finn wanted to know. "If I have to stop a charge at close quarters, the double might be better. But it's heavier to carry, and I can shoot the .375 Magnum better at long range. If I place the first shot right, our life expectancy increases, right?" She managed a wan smile.

Hamilton laughed. "Good, that. I'm glad to see that you understand the odds, and can still joke about it. I rather fancy that you will fire the first shot at some 100 yards. If the cat comes for us, he'll move fast: a hundred yards in about six seconds. You may have time to cycle the bolt and get off a second shot. Hold low in the chest as he comes. Don't go for a head shot. A lion's skull slopes, and the bullet may well glance off. The mane makes it look like he has more forehead than he does. Nothing much to shoot at there. Take the low chest shot, and let the bullet range through the heart and any other organs that it can."

"Okay, the H&H then." She turned to her gun bearer who was listening. ""Ali, _toa .375 bunduki_."

Hamilton's eyebrows rose. "My word, you ladies have been practicing your Swahili."

"I learned some at home," she admitted. "Really crucial, necessary stuff. Like, _'letti chai kwa Mem'Sahib'_." She grinned. That meant to bring the lady her tea.

"Hey, I married Himself the Professor here. I've got to learn to think British. After six years of looking after George, I know how important tea is to us Limeys, including us foreign, adopted ones."

"I should hope so," retorted Marguerite Roxton. "I tried to raise you right, Finnykins." She winked at her younger friend. "Look here: I'm going along, and I expect that George will, too. We can't let a child like Finn shoot her first lion without a support team. Besides, I want to see what I'm letting myself in for if I try to shoot one later. Finny is as bold as brass, and if she runs, I'll know that I need to, too."

"Don't run," said Hamilton. "It just isn't done. Makes us look bad to the natives, you see, and that's very bad form. Show the stiff upper lip and die British, but don't bloody well run. It lets down the white race and the nation. Death before dishonor; there's our duty. Besides, the lion will catch you and the result will be exceedingly unpleasant. " He looked serious, although he tried to be humorous.

"Finn isn't going to die, for heaven's sake," exclaimed her husband. "Wherever should I get another girl who looks like her and takes care of me half so well? Look here, Blacklaws, what do I need to tell this ruffian to have him bring my heavy rifle?" He looked at his gun bearer, Moses.

Blacklaws looked at Moses. _"Toa bunduki m'kubwa kwa Bwana Challenger."_

Moses brought the .465 Royal Model Holland & Holland double rifle and a flat yellow box of the Kynoch cartridges. Challenger checked: soft- nosed bullets. Full metal jacketed "solids" were reserved for rhino, elephant, maybe hippo, or Cape buffalo, under the right circumstances. Everything else got soft- nosed bullets that expanded as they penetrated, for added killing power.

He opened a box and put eight cartridges into the loops on his bush shirt and dropped two more into the barrels of the heavy rifle. They went into the chambers with that hollow "thunk!" sound that was one of the noises associated with big double rifles and the romance that they generated. It was their equivalent to the four clicks that the cocking hammer of his Colt .45 single-action revolver made. Both sounds meant business.

"Hold two rounds (cartridges) between the fingers of your left hand, along the rifle's forearm," instructed Hamilton. "That way, you have a fast reload, if needed. Sometimes, it is needed, and as quick as you please. Otherwise, the path to dangerous game is the dusty road to death. This is where the women get sorted out from the girls, pardon me, ladies. But this isn't something that we want to start unless we're prepared to finish it." He looked soberly at Finn and at Marguerite.

Finn was nervous, but determined. She knew that she was a good, cool shot. She had faced jaguars, even dinosaurs, in the Amazonian jungle. Could this really be any worse? Besides, she wanted to test herself. Can I do this? She nodded at Hamilton, to let him know that she understood what he had said, and was accepting the risk.

Marguerite was typically sarcastic. "Oh, gosh, Stuart, I was planning on throwing away my rifle and raising my hands and yelling, 'I surrender' if the lion looked too angry. You mean that won't work?"

"Can't say," answered the hunter. "Never seen it done. But I wouldn't advise it. Lions generally have a very poor sense of humor once they've been shot at. If they're wounded, they have a very bad attitude, indeed."

"If they're dead, their attitude doesn't matter," noted Challenger. "No damned lion is getting my wife."

Finn was touched and was overcome with love. She wiped away a tear and stood on her toes to kiss Challenger. He held her close and caressed her hair.

"Oh, bloody hell. This is getting too sentimental. We're only going to risk our lives, before we've even had supper. It's not like we're doing anything major. Come along, John. Lets' get this show on the road." And Lady Roxton led the way to the hunting car.

They motored over the hill and for several hundred yards until the Wakamba tracker tapped Hamilton on the shoulder and pointed with his chin. "There, Bwana. Lions rest under big tree. _Simba m'kubwa."_ Big lion...

They bailed out of the car and stalked forward, Hamilton and Finn ahead of the others. Roxton walked 15 yards behind, ready to lend a hand with his .416, if needed, but well out of the way if he wasn't. Challenger was on his right, intent that no lion reach his beloved mate. Marguerite and Veronica stayed in the car, but Marguerite loaded her .318 Westley Richards rifle with 250 grain bullets and lifted her binocular.

At 125 yards, the lion heard them, or sensed from the reaction of his lionesses that something was amiss. Two of the lady lions growled, a sound that rumbled deep in the blood and chilled the soul. It had been doing this since before people were fully human, on these African savannahs where our species arose in ancient times.

Finn turned over the safety on her rifle to the "Off" position and tried to get closer. If she had to shoot, she wanted the first shot to go right where it should.

"Take him through the shoulder. Break him down. Now, as soon as you're sure of your shot." Hamilton was tense, but calm, his big .500 Nitro Express balanced in his hands as he awaited a charge.

The lion threw them a dirty look, filled his lungs and roared, the full blown thing that shook the long grass and terrified even strong men.

Finn knew that the moment of truth was at hand. In a moment, either the lion would turn and lope off, a difficult target, or he would come for her, claws out and teeth gleaming in the afternoon light, long white fangs that could crush her chest with a single bite into the thorax.

She stopped and lifted the rifle. The gold foresight showed in the wide Vee of the British open rear sight. The rifle wavered as she sought to steady it. Finn weighed about 115 pounds and the rifle's nine pounds was as much as she cared to aim and fire from a standing position at this distance. The lion turned to face her, and the shoulder shot was lost. Now, she needed to hit the chest, and well.

"Shoot, dammit, " muttered Hamilton."If you don't feel up to it, hold your fire, and we'll hope for a better chance later, on another lion."

The lion stood now, and walked stiffly toward them, roaring once more. The sound of her shot was almost lost in the last syllables of the awesome noise of the roar, but she felt the rifle recoil. She reached desperately for the bolt handle, snapping the bolt of the Magnum Mauser action all the way back to eject the fired cartridge case, then forward to chamber her next round.

Hamilton heard the 270 grain soft- nosed bullet hit, a sinister hollow smack!, and the lion abruptly sat down. Then, he stood again and emitted a series of angry roars that would terrify any sane person, and came for them. Low, fast, determined...

Finn's second shot hit low in the chest as the lion came, precisely as the hunter had instructed. Her husband had already delivered a series of lectures on African animal anatomy before they had left home, and Lord Roxton had also briefed her on where to achieve a quick kill. Most of this information was almost identical to shooting tapir, jaguar, and similar animals that she had shot on the Plateau and on deer in Britain.

The lion rolled, straightened itself, shuddering as Hamilton slammed a 500 grain bullet into its left shoulder, and tried to limp on, roaring defiantly. Finn rammed a third cartridge into the chamber of her rifle and hit it again, this time breaking the back with a bullet that entered the chest, glanced off a bone, and careened upward. The lion dropped.

"Reload, fast!" commanded Hamilton. Challenger had run around to the right, staying out of the line of fire from his wife and Hamilton. He aimed at the lion, but it was soon plain that it was down and probably dead.

"Watch those lionesses, Professor," cautioned the hunter. "They will decide at any time whether to melt away or come for us. It can go either way." He reloaded the barrel that he had fired and snapped the action of his rifle shut.

The lionesses vacillated, and Roxton was asked to put a bullet into the tree next to one. "The sound of that bullet hitting wood may scare them off. Just don't wound one."

Roxton fired, immediately reloading his magazine from a cartridge held in his left hand. The bullet showered the lionesses with fragments of wood, and the loud thunk of the strike echoed back to the hunters. The cats stood for a second, and then one bounded off, followed in a few seconds by three others.

"Can I breathe now?" asked Finn.

Marguerite Roxton had watched all of this from the car, her Zeiss 8X30 binocular to her eyes. Veronica Malone had also raised her binocular. Now, she lowered it, saying, "Looks okay. I should have known that Finn would shoot straight. She lives and breathes this stuff."

"You can say that again," muttered Lady Roxton. "When we get together at their place or at ours, she and John drift off to the den and play with their guns. Challenger and I talk, which I greatly enjoy, especially now that he pays as much attention to the rest of the world as he does to his lab."

Veronica smiled. "If it gets too bad, serve ice cream. That will get Finny to put her guns away for awhile and come join you."

"How very true," answered Marguerite. Then, she stiffened. "Oh, damn it! Look at that!" And she set the binocular aside and seized her rifle.

Bounding from the car, she ran about 50 feet and knelt, rifle to shoulder. A lioness was stalking the hunting party under cover of a bed of reeds. From where they stood, she was coming in behind them, and when she charged, there would be no more than 40 to 50 yards before she was on them. Marguerite was amazed at how well the lioness hid in the grass, creeping low, moving cautiously until her final rush.

The .318 bullet smacked into the big cat's left shoulder, breaking it and dropping the animal. . But she struggled up and Marguerite put a second shot into her neck just ahead of the shoulder. This killed her at once, the lioness dropping like the proverbial lead balloon or sack of bricks.

"What the devil are you shooting at, Marguerite?!" yelled her husband.

"Vermin," she answered saucily. She felt pretty good about her shooting, and remembered to reload her rifle's magazine. "Actually, there was a lioness about to have you for supper, but I sent her to the Happy Hunting Grounds, as the American Indians say. Well, they say that in books and movies. I'm sure that I haven't the slightest idea whether they say it in real life."

After checking the lion, they inspected the lioness, and Hamilton congratulated Marguerite on her marksmanship.

"Isn't that 'markswomanship'? " she smirked. "I guess I showed you Boy Scouts. You'd have been toast without me and my trusty rifle. I think you ought to write a thank - you note to the people at Westley Richards and Co. This thing shoots right to the sights. "

They got the lions cleaned and skinned; taking both hides back to camp for further processing by the "boys" who specialized in trophy preparation.

"Drive fast," demanded Marguerite. "I'm starving. Shooting lions is hungry work."

"I'm not too sure about that," responded Finn. "Personally, I'm not eating anything until my heart comes back down out of my throat." But she felt exhilarated, a happy huntress, at one with Nature, having triumphed over danger.

Roxton shook her hand and her husband put his arm around her and kissed her. Finn felt on top of the world.

CHAPTER SIX

That night, Khalid met with his friend and business partner Joao Rangaswamy, a native of Goa, a Portuguese colony on the Indian mainland. Like most _dukkas_ or general stores in Kenya, the one in which they sat was run by Indians, in this case, actually a Goan. (Author's note: Goa no longer exists, having been invaded and annexed by India some years after Indian independence.)

The men sat in the back of Rangaswamy's store, on the route where the safari would pass the next day. They were discussing their arrangement with the Sultan, and the rich price that he would pay for the women whom he desired.

"We shall be able to retire, or to build our businesses on a grander scale. But we must be cautious. It would be ruinous to be caught with these Western sluts. Infidels that they are, their government will deal grimly with us if our plan fails. Are you sure that the men you enlisted to help are reliable?"

"Yes, yes, "Rangaswamy assured him."I use these men all the time to smuggle ivory and, sometimes, black and Indian slaves. They know well how to get girls down to the harbors and keep them from the sight of policemen. Stealing white girls is a more serious offense, but they are bold enough to do it. As long as we pay them more than usual, they will welcome the challenge. Not to mention the chance to enjoy the white girls before they are delivered to the docks." He snickered, a mean sound in the darkness.

"No, no, "protested Khalid. "The Sultan's message stipulated that the girls must not be used. Doubtless, some of that is vanity, with him not wanting any other man to use a vessel for which he is paying good money. But you also know well that many Africans harbor venereal diseases. The Sultan naturally wishes not to risk exposure to these, should the girls be used by our men. They can look, but not touch, in the carnal sense."

The other man looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Yes, were I in the Sultan's place, I would make a similar stipulation."

The Indian ventured to ask how Khalid could be certain that Lady Roxton was the escaped girl for whom the ransom was offered. Might not the Sultan be greatly offended if he paid for something that he discovered to be a false bill of goods?

"Not to worry, as the English dogs say," promised Khalid. "He will still pay heavily for Lady Roxton just as the wife of an Earl, that she may be tormented in public to the humiliation of both herself and her imperialist nation. But I feel sure that she is the girl whom I often saw dance. And the Sultan has reminded me that Marguerite has a distinctive birthmark behind her left shoulder."

He took out a pen and sketched the mark on a notepad in the light of a lantern. "We will strip these girls for examination, of course, and will then look for this mark on the brunette woman. If she has this rare mark, she is indeed the escaped slave, and worth every penny that we ask for her." He shrugged. "If not, we get a lesser sum, but still a lot of money. But I am all but certain that this Marguerite Roxton is the one whom we seek."

"My man in their camp will keep us informed as to the plans of the white bwanas," said Rangaswamy. "We should be able to strike soon. I want to plan this to occur when the safari women are all together and the settler girl can also be seized. And I want this to happen when our convoy of ivory and black girls is passing nearby, en route to the coast. We can then simply add the new captives to that caravan. But we will want to meet them soon with motor transport. The search for the white women will be extensive, and the sooner they are aboard a dhow headed for Amarrah, the better. We will coordinate this within two days, I believe."

"You will hold the girls here until the cars come?" Khalid wanted to be sure of that.

Rangaswamy nodded. "I have cars coming from Nairobi now. They will meet the camels with the girls and load them into the cars here. It will be dark, and the women will be blindfolded. I do not desire that they identify my store, if one should escape."

Khalid scoffed. "Let me tie them and they will not escape. I have no intention of risking our necks and this fortune just because some bimbo slips her bonds and raises an alarm."

The other man agreed. "No, they will not escape or raise an alarm. But they will be blindfolded just the same. There is always the off chance that a British ship will search the dhow, and free the new slaves. If so, they must not be able to say whence they came to the dhow. Now, will you join me in a coffee, brother? We can toast our forthcoming riches and the consternation of the white authorities. Just think! We shall look upon the naked wife of an English Earl! What a fine entertainment, and a pleasant way to increase our wealth!" His face creased in an awful smile.

"A worthy toast," agreed Khalid. "Prepare my cup with sugar, but no milk. I am looking forward to our little venture."

CHAPTER SEVEN

As the conspirators talked, the safari pulled into camp and the lion skins were unloaded. Finn and Marguerite were hoisted onto the shoulders of widely grinning camp boys, who sang tribal songs praising them as great huntresses.

The boys were happy that the bwanas and their mem'sahibs were happy, for then they tended to be easier to get along with and they tipped the camp staff. If an antelope or some other edible animal had been shot, there would also be plenty of meat. The warthog and the Tommy gazelles had provided that, so the camp was a happy one.

Blacklaws and Hamilton also offered their congratulations to the happy huntresses, and each of the women felt a surge of achievement, savoring the acclaim.

"This feels so wonderful! I really feel like I've impressed these guys!" Finn was slightly euphoric, her attitude helped along by the rum-and-tonic that Blacklaws had placed in her hand as soon as the singing natives put her down.

Fires were lit and the camp table set up with chairs placed around it. A whiskey bottle came out, and the gentlemen and Marguerite were poured drams of Scotland's finest. Good cheer reigned, with a superb dinner soon served.

"I can't imagine why you're so impressed by the acclaim," Challenger teased his mate. "I always feel this way about you, and you don't even have to face any lion charges to get my approval!"

Finn laughed and hugged him. "You have to tell me that I'm terrific, Genius! You love me. These guys barely know me!"

"We just met, Finn, but we have come to know what a splendid person you are," observed Blacklaws. "Professor Challenger, you have a remarkable woman here. You have every right to be proud of her."

"As indeed I am," enthused the eminent scientist.

"So, where does that leave me? "demanded Lady Roxton, "What am I, chopped meat?"

"No," said her husband, "although I see the resemblance. Both you and a good steak are very tasty. Both have a lot of sizzle, too."

Marguerite started to bristle, but joined the others in laughter. The comparison amused even her.

None of the celebrating hunters saw the crafty, smug look on the face of one of the camp boys. He was looking forward to these women being much less happy.

After all had retired for the night, John Roxton felt his wife sneaking into his camp bed. "Who's that?" he demanded.

"You'd better know, wisearse," she replied. "Let me give you a few clues. Who else fondles you like this?" And her artful hands played over his nude body, instantly arousing him, although he had thought that he was exhausted.

"Only one woman in the world makes love this well. Must be my wife. Hello, Lady Roxton. Anything I can do for you tonight?" He chuckled.

"Actually, there's quite a lot that you can do for me. Show me what you meant when you said that I was as tasty as a good steak. Make me sizzle, Bwana."

He turned, holding her close, his hands playing skilfully along her waist, one of her known erogenous zones, before transferring his caresses to her bottom. He didn't neglect her ears and the sides of her neck, and when he turned her slightly to ease his fingers into her; he found her wet and willing, moaning softly as he probed her depths, emotionally and physically.

"Oh, Johnnn." she murmured.

"That's me," he responded. "You've come to the right bed."

"Have I ever! Play with my boobs." She had picked up the American English word for mammaries from her friend Finn. Amused by her pal's futuristic speech, she nonetheless found herself incorporating select words into her own vocabulary. The reverse had been true as well.

Roxton complied, nibbling at one nipple as his hand toyed masterfully with the other. Marguerite groaned and tried to suppress the scream that she wanted to utter, lest anyone in another tent hear. The professionals had pitched their tents a little distance off, but even mild sound effects would be heard in the tents on either side of hers. She could do without Veronica or Finn teasing her in the morning...not that they weren't doing much what she was. Finn, in particular, had had that glassy - eyed passionate look when she had finally pulled Challenger away from the talk at the table after dinner. Everyone had smiled as she led her husband toward their quarters. Surviving a lion charge seemingly had a positive effect on her libido...A little wine after the white rum had erased any latent traces of modesty.

Veronica had looked embarrassed, but glowed when Ned took her hand and whispered something into her ear. The Malones had soon followed the Challengers to their own tent, and the gathering had broken up and called it a night.

Now, Marguerite squirmed and panted breathlessly as Roxton continued to play her body like a master angler working a leaping salmon.

She had known some skilled lovers in her time, but John Roxton was the best. She tried not to think that he had acquired his consummate talents through practice on other women. She had, after all, gained her own skills through practice, and from erotic training in the seraglio of an Arab master. That man had owned her body, but never her soul. Roxton was in possession of both. The thought made Marguerite feel so close to him, so helpless, and so aroused, that she did utter a scream as he moved his lips to her loins, probing her labia until she could no longer clamp a lid on her reactions.

"Sizzling yet?" he inquired politely.

"I passed 'sizzle' while you were doing my boobs and my inner thighs," she admitted. "I think I'm nearer to being a steam whistle if you keep that up. Oh, John, I can't help myself! I may cry out!"

"You have," he informed her, a bit smugly, she thought. Men! She shoved her face into his pillow to muffle the sounds that he soon had her making, in spite of her reluctance to disclose her innermost feelings. I'll just play it cool in the morning, looking fresh and as if nothing had happened, she resolved. And if Finny or Vee looks at me in a certain way, I swear that I will throw something at her. Or, them!

Her fears were justified. At breakfast, the Roxtons were greeted politely by everyone, but when Marguerite asked Veronica to pass the toast, she noted a wicked gleam in her blonde friend's eye. Veronica looked at Finn, and both grinned widely.

"Sleep well, Marguerite?" asked Veronica. Finn almost choked on a bite of egg, laughing.

"Like a log," Marguerite replied calmly. But she made an obscene gesture with the middle finger of her right hand when Blacklaws and Hamilton weren't looking.

The blondes both broke out laughing, prompting Roxton and Challenger to ask what was so funny.

"You guys probably don't want to know," offered Finn, and all three women began laughing anew.

"I've found that it's better to let these three girls have their fun and avoid inquiring what sets them off when they laugh like this, " counseled Ned. "It's enough that they're happy and not thinking of things for their men to do."

"Ah, yes. Well...," ventured Geoff Blacklaws. "Speaking of things to do, what would you like to hunt today?"

"What about the Nandi bear?" asked Finn. "Do you think it could be real?"

Blacklaws looked amused. Roxton said, "Really, now, Finn." He looked embarrassed.

"What's a Nandi bear?" asked Veronica, wanting to stand up for her friend, but not knowing what was involved.

"It's a native legend," explained Challenger. "Some sort of bear. Some Europeans have supposedly seen it, so it's not just a silly native tale."

"My guess is that those who have seen it have seen pink or green elephants the same night," volunteered Blacklaws. "Too much _pombe_, native beer. Or the better equivalent, for the whites."

"Don't laugh at Finn. She asked an honest question. Let's give her an honest answer. Finn, it is probably just a monster story, but I'm not convinced. I once had a Nandi among my safari boys, and he swore that the tribe has known of it for centuries, and still sees some. Personally I think it may be a large, stocky baboon seen in poor light. Or, a big hyena." Hamilton wondered why he felt protective toward Finn. She was another man's wife, and he was engaged. But she was such fun, and so brave and so funny and so pretty that she had a certain effect on a man...

"I concur," said Challenger. "I have studied all of the credible reports, and a large, heavily built hyena seems the likely culprit. Except that the 'bear' supposedly climbs trees. A baboon could do that. Maybe it's both animals, seen on different occasions. There may even be unknown species of each there. The okapi and the gorilla and the chimpanzee are all recent discoveries. All were previously believed to be myths." (See the Mature rated Fic, "Mem'Sahib Bunduki and the Nandi Bear" for more on this animal.)

He took Finn's hand affectionately. "Darling, never be afraid to ask. You often have very thought provoking questions."

"I remember some of her thought provoking questions," muttered Marguerite. "Like, 'how do you spell this'?"

"That will be enough, if you please, Marguerite," said Challenger, a little sharply. He turned to the hunters. "Gentlemen, my wife was born in Brazil. She did not learn to read well in English until after we met."

Finn looked at him gratefully and squeezed his hand back. She was still self conscious about having learned to read after she was in her 20's, and his patience with her as she learned at his hand was one reason why she had come to love Challenger.

"Marguerite, Finn is now a published author. Leave her alone. She writes very well today." Ned Malone thought that Lady Roxton could still be a cruel bitch at times.

Marguerite flushed, angry with herself. That remark had backfired, and Finn was one of her best friends. She was just mad at her and Vee for laughing at her embarrassment over having been heard while having sex. Marguerite hated being seen as mortal and human. She was shy about admitting that she was putty in Roxton's skilled hands.

"I'm sorry, Finnykins. I was trying to be funny. You did learn to read quickly once you got the hang of it. Please forgive my big mouth. Clearly, I need more coffee before I speak." Marguerite hoped that her apology would suffice.

Finn regarded her coolly. "That's okay, Marguerite. If you find a snake in your bed tonight, I probably had nothing to do with it."

"Ladies..." began Roxton.

Blacklaws cleared his throat. "Well, Nandi bears aside, would you rather go into mixed brush and scrub and look for Greater Kudu, or find some more forested land and try for bushbuck or Lesser Kudu?"

"I want to shoot a leopard. They're so pretty, and Ned wants one for our wall in the Treehouse at home." Veronica also wanted to change the subject.

"Leopards often like forested land," said Hamilton. "We all need to shoot our leopards, and around here is as good a place as any. If we wait until we get to Angus Hardy's farm, he'll thank us to kill a few for him. They prey on his stock. He has some really big ones there."

"Let's try for bushbuck or duikers and look for leopard sign while we're at it," suggested Challenger. "Those species frequently live in close conjunction. Success with one may mean success with another. And this afternoon, I want to do some wing shooting. I have bet my wife that she will find francolin and guinea fowl to be delicious and fine targets for a shotgun."

"Sounds like a plan," agreed Roxton. "And we can scout for buffalo while we do that."

Following breakfast, they readied their equipment and selected guns and other gear for their anticipated needs.

They were originally to have split up for the morning, each hunter taking a car with his own clients. But the group decided that they wanted to stay together.

This impressed the professionals, who observed that the three women had had an intense discussion that left them hugging one another. Apparently, whatever had pitted Lady Roxton against her blonde friends had been settled, and they were cheerful again.

Blacklaws mentioned this to his fellow professional, and Hamilton shook his head. "Geoff, don't try to figure it out. Your head will hurt. There's no understanding women, anyway. Just fuck them and hope that you do it well enough that they'll cook you breakfast."

"That seems simplistic, if effectively true," admitted the older hunter. "Is that how you plan to manage Diana? She's a remarkable girl, and Angus is an excellent choice for a father-in-law. You got lucky, there, chum."

Hamilton smiled faintly. "Diana is special. If I had to go, I gave up my freedom for the right woman. I hope! I plan to drop in on her and Angus tomorrow, and we'll shoot some leopard on their place. Suit you?"

"Yes. I saw that big tom that Angus shot last spring. Over 175 pounds, a big leopard. And they'll be glad to see us. Diana sets a fine table, too. Makes a swell impression on the clients. Well, here they are. Good shooting, pal."

And with that, they boarded the vehicles and departed for what the day might offer.

Barely a mile from camp, one vehicle trailing the other by 300 yards, they saw a herd of Cape buffalo milling around a swampy waterhole.

Blacklaws pulled up the truck, and they all got out binoculars and looked over the herd at a safe distance. One big bull would probably measure over 50 inches across the horns, and Roxton made a note of him. "Maybe tomorrow, I want to shoot that fellow, unless we find better."

"No time like the present and the day is young. If you wound it, and I have to follow it up, I want plenty of daylight." Blacklaws knew a good trophy when he saw one, and this buffalo was exceptional.

"I'll try hard not to wound it," Roxton commented drily. "But seriously, Geoff, your responsibility to track wounded game rests heavily on me. I'll be careful."

"Let's have a go at him then. Are you up for it? You know that once you shoot, it's going to be either you or him, right? There's no backtracking once your first bullet hits."

"John knows what he's doing." Marguerite was offended on hearing her man talked to like a safari novice. "If you aren't afraid, yourself, Geoff, let's get out and get this over with. I want to look for leopard tracks, and I plan a bath in camp before I shoot birds this afternoon. The Challengers can go grub after George's trapped mice or whatever while I bask in a canvas tub with a cold beer in my hand."

Roxton looked apologetically at Blacklaws, to let him know that he wasn't questioning the hunter's courage. "Geoff, I'm on for it if you are. That's a damned nice buff. Metheke," he addressed his gun bearer," _Toa bunduki m'kubwa, the .465."_

He took the .465 Nitro Express double rifle and dropped two cartridges into the opened breech. Plunk! That hollow sound as the brass rounds went home and the satisfying Snick/Snap! as he closed the barrels reassured him. Normally, he preferred a .416 Rigby bolt-action rifle built on a Magnum Mauser action for dangerous game. But for buffalo in thick cover, a double rifle would offer a quicker second shot if needed, and the big Holland & Holland pointed almost as quickly as a fine shotgun. Not that his .416 was a slouch in the handling department, either... and he had killed even dinosaurs with it!

Blacklaws took a .500 Jeffery , and he and Roxton dropped extra ammunition into the loops on their bush jackets. Time for a fast goodbye...

"Marguerite, if I muff this and don't come back, tell the children that I died game." Roxton was making light of the risk, but his wife hugged him fiercely. She knew the danger.

"Roxton, if you get killed out there, I am personally going to give your ghost a nasty talking-to! Oh, John, I do so love you. Please be careful, if you insist on doing this sort of thing!"

"Want me to come?" Finn offered. But both men shook their heads, and Challenger breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't keen on his woman getting too close to a potentially deadly buffalo.

But the hunt went well. The first shot broke a shoulder, and Roxton put another into the base of the horns as the bull turned to charge. He reloaded and the men stood close to the dead buffalo, as the others in the herd of over a hundred milled around. Then, they smelled the blood and galloped off. The hunters were almost overrun in a stampede, but crouched for cover beside a tree as the frightened, enraged animals rushed past on either side.

When the dust cleared, the cars came up and they opened the bull, cleaning out the entrails, lest they affect the quality of the meat.

Finn took still photos, getting some good pictures for her next book and her planned lecture tour. Ned Malone helped, making suggestions, taking photos of his own. The pictures of Roxton and Blacklaws with the buffalo were taken before the boys opened the stomach and did what they had to do.

They then winched the beast aboard the transport truck, and Blacklaws sent the buffalo back to camp. The skinners and others would do their work there.

They waited a distance off, until the vultures and the jackals came, to tear at the entrails and fight for what bites they could get. Finn set up her camera with a telephoto lens and recorded the event.

Nothing about the bull's death was wasted...

They scouted along a sandy riverbed, called a donga, wet mainly in the rainy season. But pools of water remained throughout the year, and animals drank there. Leopards, like other game, left footprints.

They found a set of tracks left by a large tom, and followed it out of the donga, noting the direction in which the cat had gone.

Motoring in that direction, they scanned the treetops, hoping to locate a tree with a dead antelope hanging in it, a sure sign that a big cat was active.

By noon, they had found nothing, and paused to eat lunch in the cars.

Sandwiches were still cool, packed over ice in insulated bags, and some drinks were cold. No one drank alcohol, for they might shoot soon, and the afternoon would involve wing shooting for birds. Gunpowder and alcohol are a bad mix, and their drinking would wait until dinner.

"If we find a leopard, who gets first try at one?" Marguerite wanted that settled in advance. They discussed it, and agreed that Veronica would have the first shot. If they had to hang a bait animal in a "likely" tree, a thornbush "blind" would have to be made, looking as natural as possible. If anything seemed odd about the scene, a leopard, cautious on approaching a kill in a tree, would see it and leave. Blacklaws explained that leopards are very careful.

"If they turn out man-eater, they are harder to kill than most lions," he explained. "Lions may become complacent, contemptuous of humans. The leopard may be as brave as Lady Roxton here, but never loses his innate fear of man. He moves with great care."

"So should you, if you're trying to patronize me," said Lady Roxton. "I assume that you were flattering me; making a joke, too. But I'm not the brave one of us. I just have a big mouth. Finn or Veronica or the men are our bold types."

"John is our bravest," quipped Ned Malone. "He married Marguerite. That took real guts." He grinned at his jest.

Roxton shook his head in mock despair. Even Marguerite smiled, although she wadded up a tissue paper and threw it at Malone, to his own wife's amusement.

The professional hunter went on to explain that only he and Veronica could be in the blind, and would have to sit for hours, motionless, breathing carefully, even leaving their wristwatches in the car, lest the cat hear them ticking if it came close. Even drinking, if done at all, would have to be accomplished with extreme care, with slow movements of the canteen to and from one's mouth.

"If I point to anything, I'll use my lips," warned Geoff. "Anything more is too much movement. You wouldn't believe how keen a leopard's senses are. And wear your revolver. If the cat gets into the blind and has a go at one of us, you may need it. Just don't shoot through the beast and into me, please."

As he detailed these anticipated discomforts and dangers of leopard hunting, Challenger was scanning the terrain with his Zeiss 10X50 binocular, looking for any movement that might reveal an animal that he wanted to study.

"I say, Veronica," he interrupted, "why not just pop that big fellow sunning himself on the rock about 200 yards to our right oblique?"

Blacklaws looked, and was dumbfounded to see a large sleeping leopard sunning himself, just as described.

This generated quiet excitement within the two hunting cars. Blacklaws asked Veronica whether she felt that she could slip out of the rearmost car from the leopard (in which she was sitting) and come with him around to the right and get the legal distance from the car to take a shot.

"Use your .275 with the telescopic sight," he ordered. "Can you shoot well enough to be confident of a good hit? I don't half fancy following a wounded leopard into that tall grass. Mum didn't raise me to leave life as a claw-shredded corpse."

Veronica was nervous, but whispered that she wanted to try. Her gun bearer quietly passed her the rifle with a flat yellow and tan box of Kynoch ammunition, loaded with Rigby's patented bullets. Blacklaws took his .375 Magnum, and they slipped out of the car.

Roxton and Finn loaded their own .375's, in case they had to run to the hunters' aid, and everyone followed the action through their binoculars.

The cat had been dozing, but just as Blacklaws and Veronica Malone reached a point from which they could legally shoot, from a flat patch of ground, it woke.

It rose, stretched, and looked around. The hunters stood stock still, and its casual glance missed them, kneeling low to the ground.

Veronica eased the .275 up and found the spotted demon in the field of the 4X Hensoldt sight. She had already turned over the rifle's safety to "Off", and was ready to fire when the cat saw them. Confused at first by what he was seeing, the big male leopard looked right at them. He was unused to seeing white people and their different dress.

"Damn!" mouthed the hunter "Shoot, quick, or he'll be gone like a phantom!"

The roar of the rifle was lost on Veronica in her stress, but she registered the recoil as the rubber pad kicked back into the hollow of her shoulder. She saw the leopard leap bolt upright, and it screamed a horrible noise as it flashed past her vision.

She heard the BLAM! of Blacklaws's rifle as he hurriedly sent a second shot after hers.

Frantically working the rifle's bolt as Ned had insisted that she practice, Veronica reloaded and looked for a ball of spotted fury coming for her.

"Can't see the bloody thing," muttered the hunter. "Come with me. I'll get a shotgun and see whether I can follow him up. I think your shot hit, from his reaction. But they take a lot of killing if the first shot didn't hit a vital organ. That's true of many animals, especially of buffalo."

He led the way back to the car, finding Roxton and Finn quietly talking, with their rifles ready to hand. Finn was watching the area where the cat had disappeared through her Zeiss 8X30 binocular.

"We saw what happened," she told the hunters. "Johnny and I will go with you, Geoff. Do you want us in a line abreast, or what?"

"Following up wounded game is my duty," Blacklaws responded. "Above all, I have no intention of exposing a woman to what lies waiting in that long grass. Why are you volunteering, Finn? Why not your husband or Mr. Malone? I've noticed that you and Lord Roxton seem to team together for this sort of thing, or look like you're always ready for it. Roxton? I'm just curious. I'm not inferring cowardice on the part of you other men. I don't sense that."

"I'll answer for my husband, Geoff." Lady Roxton was offended by his sexism in the remark to Finn, but she knew the way of men and of their times. It was not done for a gentleman to ask a lady to risk herself in an activity like this. Certainly not by a professional hunter, although some would let a client accompany them, if the trust bond was strong. But Blacklaws had never seen Veronica shoot at animals until now, and she might well have wounded a dangerous adversary. She was pretty, but could she stand and face a charge? And put a bullet where it desperately needed to go?

"Geoff, Finny and John are our little family's killers. They did the majority of hunting after she learned to shoot a gun, and they think a lot alike. They're sort of natural pals, always talking guns and hunting and such. I teasingly call them The Gun People, but I respect them and the psychic intuition that they use. They'll back you up as well as anyone. I'll come too, but being a fine lady of artistic temperament, I usually leave dirty work like this to Hubby here and his blonde Diana. I call him Orion, by the way. They make a good hunter-huntress team. Don't underestimate either. They're deadly shots, and they love this sort of thing." Marguerite wanted it understood that her husband and his hunting partner were not amateurs, nor were their marital partners cowards.

Blacklaws considered. He looked at Hamilton and said, "Stuart, will you join me? I'd appreciate it if Orion and Diana here looked after the cars in case the cat slips past us and goes for the others."

"Hey!" said Finn. "Didn't you hear Marguerite? Johnny and I can do this. We work well together, and we've killed some really nasty animals. And men. And I didn't like that crack about my husband. The Genius is plenty brave. I've seen him do some remarkably courageous things. Ned, too. But Johnny and I are our team for this kind of thing. We click at it."

Hamilton sought a compromise. "Look, Finn. Why don't you and Lord Roxton work off to our left as Geoff and I follow any blood trail? If the cat breaks out that way, you shoot it. If it comes for us, Geoff and I will kill it, or die trying. They move jolly fast. That's why Geoff is getting his shotgun. It puts out a pattern of buckshot and can be pointed faster than a rifle at close range, with its single shot before you have to reload or fire a second barrel. Will you do that, Roxton? And stay in a place that keeps you two out of out of our line of fire, as we'll stay far enough back that you can shoot to the right, if you see the cat. But if we get close on the trail, in the final follow-up, hold your fire. We'll have to walk right up to it to be sure that it's dead. Finn?"

Roxton and Finn looked at one another and nodded. "Right, we'll do that." But Roxton meant to give Blacklaws a talking to after this ended.

The foursome walked after the leopard, Orion and Diana well to the left of the local men, forward of them, to allow them a frontal or side shot, depending on which way the cat came for them. Hamilton looked at them occasionally to check their position, and observed how they worked together, exchanging a few quick glances, as if reading one another's' minds. They were always ready, never getting in each others' way. He decided that those two knew what they were doing. And Roxton, at least, had done this before, if years ago.

Blacklaws stopped and flung up the 12 gauge Greener shotgun. He had seen the tawny and black hide of the cat, lying near the high boulder from which it had leaped when Veronica had shot. Hamilton threw a stick at the cat, but it didn't move. With great caution, Blacklaws walked over and prodded the leopard with the muzzles of his double-barreled shotgun. It was dead.

He signaled for the others to come over, and Orion and Diana cautiously approached, their rifles ready. They took in the scene as Blacklaws said, "_Kuisha_. Finished. Dead. Veronica's first shot hit the heart, I think. Sometimes, they leap like that to a heart shot. I'm not sure if my bullet connected. We'll look when we skin it."

Finn was looking coolly around, her .375 Magnum balanced in her hands like the fine instrument that it was. "What about a mate? Do they ever travel in pairs?"

Blacklaws shook his head. "Seldom, and just at mating time. We haven't heard any kitty cat mating calls, and this one was sunning alone on that rock. Males don't get together; they're too competitive. Basically, the male leopard lives alone, and it dies alone. But I'm impressed that you thought to ask."

"I'm a careful girl," she replied. "Geoff, I didn't get to be 28 years old by being careless. I came from a grim place."

"You're 28?" Hamilton was surprised. "You look more like you're about five years younger. You and Veronica seem about that age."

"They're well preserved," answered Roxton. "Veronica is 30, but don't tell her that I told. Finn here had a birthday just before we left England. She just looks childlike because of her clean, healthful living and her radiant love for the Professor." He winked at his female companion, who blushed and looked shy. She was now very feminine and sexy, not the cold, careful killer that she had been a few moments earlier. But Blacklaws and Hamilton had seen her in that frame of mind and neither doubted her claim that she had killed men, and animals as dangerous as this one.

"Well, let's go and congratulate Mrs. Malone on her fine shot and clean kill. That was well done, after all. You lot are good shots and cool ones. Was this her first dangerous game?" Blacklaws was hoping to assuage any ruffled feelings.

Orion and Diana looked at one another and laughed. "No", said Roxton. "No. She's killed some dangerous things before. Some quite large, hungry or angry ones, in fact. Generally with arrows, too."

"Look here, Roxton," said Blacklaws. "I may owe you two an apology, and one to your spouses, in the ladies' cases. I spoke in a time of urgency, and without knowing you people well. I do hope that I didn't offend?"

"You did," Roxton informed him. "And I was going to have words with you about it. But consider it a past issue, unless Lady Roxton has some pregnant thoughts for you. She may well have some. She can be very candid with her comments."

Finn snickered, and the hunters looked sheepish. Both had seen this side of Lady Roxton, whom they found funny, but a bit caustic at times.

The four started back to the cars, the clients a little in the lead. Hamilton looked at Finn's trim, graceful behind as she walked, and found her gait to be ladylike and feminine. He could have watched her walk all day. The professor was a lucky man, he decided, for the hundredth time. He caught Blacklaws's eye and the men grinned at one another. Both were watching the same thing, and enjoying the view.

Back at the car, they found the men with loaded rifles and inquiring looks on their faces.

"Dead," announced Blacklaws. "Veronica, you hit it in the heart. Congratulations on a fine kill!" He offered his hand to shake. "Sorry about all the drama in the follow-up, but one can't be too careful with leopards."

"We weren't worried about you and Stuart," said Ned Malone. "You had Orion and Diana with you."

They collected the leopard, posing as Finn, Challenger and Malone all took photos of the huntress with her prize. Veronica had mixed emotions. She was proud of a clean kill, knew that there were plenty of leopards, even that they were a menace to livestock and sometimes people, especially children. But she was loath to kill very often unless she needed meat, or the animal involved was a threat.

She stroked the beautiful fur and looked at the cruel teeth and the sharp claws that could infect a man so easily if he was mauled. Rotting meat from their kills infested cat claws, and a lion or leopard mauling was often fatal later, if not at once. Antibiotics not yet being common, this was a serious problem in tropical countries. Challenger had brought a supply of his brilliant drugs, for which she was grateful. (See, "The Night of the Lions" (rated Mature) for how his drugs saved a Boer farmer, a neighbor of Angus Hardy.)

They loaded the carcass of the splendid cat into the back of the hunting car and went toward camp. "Have to get that hide off and process it before the hair slips in this climate," reminded Hamilton

Most of the way back to camp, they paused to let the Challengers check the traps that George had set for small animals. These yielded several that he killed quickly with his knife and put into a specimen bag, taking care to avoid any parasites still on them.

They were almost done, and the eminent scientist was enthused by what he was almost certain was a new species of vole. "I shall name this one after you, Darling. You brought me the luck to find it."

Finn beamed and said thanks, but she was privately amused that an animal bearing her name as its species designation should be a sort of rat.

She had taken her .375 Magnum when they left the car, thinking that it was the best compromise for anything that she might have to shoot. It kicked harder than she liked, but was bearable for her for a few shots, and was such a beautiful rifle that she had become quite fond of it. Now, she laid it down to help her husband secure the cloth specimen bags.

It was at this critical time that they sensed movement in the grass even as they heard a slithering noise.

Upon on looking around, they saw a slender olive-gray snake raise itself above the long grass and look at them, its tongue flickering, transmitting the information that it smell-tasted to Jacobson's organ in the roof of its mouth.

It stood a good four feet above the grass and was within 15 feet of the couple. Their blood ran cold as both recognized it in an instant.

"Black mamba!" breathed Challenger. "Stay still. Maybe it will leave."

But the snake reared even higher and hissed violently. It seemed on the verge of gliding forward, and they knew that it was widely considered to be the fastest snake on Earth, and very venomous. Virtually everyone bitten by one died, unless they received antivenin. Even then, survival was by no means certain. And its reputation for aggressive behavior was on par with that of the Asian King Cobra, if not worse!

Both Challengers thought of their revolvers, but the snake would be on them by the time that they could draw and fire. The slim silhouette, as compared to the spread hood of the related cobra, was a small target. Finn's powerful rifle was an even more remote hope. They were at a loss for what to do when they heard steps in the grass.

The mamba whipped around, hissing even more loudly. It started to move forward, its speed surprising to one who had never seen one of these athletic snakes move.

BLAM! spoke a shotgun and the head and neck of the mamba spurted red over the grass as a charge of No. 6 (US size) shot from a 12 gauge shell shredded the first foot of the body and the head. They heard the sound of a slide-action shotgun being worked vigorously to load the next shell from the magazine.

Ned Malone rushed over and gave the thrashing reptile another shot into the mangled head region as it twisted and thrashed barely 10 feet from the startled Challengers. Finn seized her Holland & Holland rifle and moved quickly away, pulling her husband by the hand. Not that he was slow in following her!

Blacklaws had seen what was happening and had run over. "Let's vacate the premises promptly", he suggested. "When mambas are that aggressive, sometimes another is around, and they tend to be in a bad mood at mating season."

"I can't think why," said Malone, pumping a third shell into the chamber of his Winchester Model 12. It was a fancy version, ordered with select walnut stock and forearm, with finely checkered patterns on the stock. He was quite proud of it. "I never mind mating, when I can get Veronica into the mood."

"Tell jokes later," blurted Challenger. "Finn, bring that other bag and let's get back to the car. Ned, I don't know what brought you over here with that Winchester, but I'm glad that you came!"

In the car they moved off as Blacklaws said, "I saw that bloody snake. It must have been ten, even 11 feet long. They grow to over 14 feet, but even the young ones are lethal if they bite."

The black "boys" were jabbering about the incident, and Hamilton, driving, looked back and translated their speech. "The boys say that if we kill one snake like this, its mate will find us and bite us all. Even many whites believe this."

"Well, I don't, and you shouldn't, either," declared Challenger. "What happens in those cases where you kill one and the other shows up in the same camp is that the mate just follows the scent trail of the first. We've driven off from where it was shot, and no way is another mamba going to track us down and bite us."

"That's good to know," mumbled Marguerite Roxton. "The only thing that I want biting me is John, tenderly, when I'm in the mood. George, I'm surprised that you didn't try to keep that thing and store it in formaldehyde."

Challenger chuckled. "I was too frightened to do anything but follow the Girl Guide here when she bolted, holding me by the hand!"

Finn looked at her man primly, "You're not going to fool around with any snakes that fast in future, either, Genius. That damned thing scared me out of a year's growth."

"Ned, how is it that you were there?" wondered the male Challenger. "I thought that you had stayed back at the car."

"Wanted to see if there were any rabbits in that grass," replied the American author. "It looked like a good place for some. I'm glad that I went over to see what you'd caught just before that snake reared up. What did you catch?"

Challenger proudly displayed the new species of vole, mentioning that he planned to name it after his wife.

"Oh, great," exclaimed Marguerite. "What's that going to be, _Rattus finnykinses_?"

"Um, probably, after her real first name, _nicolensis_. Or, maybe _challengeri._ Perhaps both, depending on which new species we find."

"Just don't name any rats after me," Marguerite countered. "Maybe we can find an especially graceful new antelope. That's more my style."

"Indeed it is," agreed her husband. He took her hand and Marguerite smiled back, no longer sarcastic. Her green eyes glowed, and Lord John Roxton smiled back into them, wondering for the thousandth time whether he might someday drown in them.

"Look," said Veronica, "I think Ned deserves congratulations for saving you two, Finn."

"Sure does, Vee," agreed her best friend. She was sitting by Ned and swung around to face him on the car seat. She leaned over, hugging Malone, kissing him. "Thanks, Ned," she exclaimed. "You sure saved the Genius and me. I thought we were done for!"

Veronica cleared her throat. "Finny, I said to congratulate Ned. I'll handle the kissing." But she was smiling.

After stopping off in camp long enough to unload Veronica's leopard and Challenger's scientific specimens, the party went off to a nearby waterhole to gun the incoming flocks of birds. Both sand grouse and francolin partridge were available.

They set up in clumps of brush that concealed them from the flocks of birds, and had good shooting. There were no limits, as existed in the USA, and one could shoot as many birds as he or she wished. The huge numbers were hardly dented by hunting, and the birds were very tasty.

In spite of the liberal regulations, no one wanted to shoot more birds than they could use, so they were done in a little over an hour.

The Roxtons shot the same matched pairs of Purdey shotguns that they used on grouse and pheasants in Britain. The Challengers owned the same type of guns, but had left them at home. George used his Holland & Holland 12 gauge over-and under gun, and Finn used both a German-made Merkel 12 gauge and a Remington M-17 20 gauge slide-action repeater. She found less difference in recoil than expected, as the light weight of the Remington let it kick almost as much as the heavier Merkel. She was grateful that both stocks were fitted with rubber recoil pads. Besides, she rather liked the looks of the dull red pad at the end of each stock.

The Malones shot repeaters, Ned his Winchester M-12 and Veronica a Remington like Finn's. It had been ordered with extra cost fine wood and nicer checkering patterns, like her friend's, and was a joy to behold as well as to shoot. Finn spent some time in just admiring the beautifully grained walnut as the sun played over it. Twice, Challenger had to warn her of incoming birds, so pleased was she in running her hand over the stock of her gun, drawing deep satisfaction and joy from its beauty. All of her firearms were first class and were well cared for. Even here, she checked the cleaning done by the black gun bearers, and never let them touch her revolver or her .275, which she insisted on cleaning herself. Unless "Johnny" Roxton offered to do it, usually as they sat and talked... Finn remembered when her only weapon had been a crossbow improvised from scrap materials, and she relished fine guns, knives, boots, and binoculars. She and Roxton were the primary admirers of guns in their group, but all took care of their equipment, having learned the hard lesson that if you took care of your guns, they'd take care of you.

The white hunters shot only a few birds, "to keep our hand in, you know". Hamilton shot an Army & Navy Cooperative Stores gun made by some famous maker for that officers' shopping society. Their guns were excellent quality, but usually had plainer wood and less engraving than if the famous makers' names were on them. Blacklaws had a pair of fine Belgian guns by Auguste Francotte, of which he shot only one that day. "Saves the boys having to clean the pair," he explained.

The sportspersons had noted that the white hunters treated their staffs well, and the boys were usually cheerful. Actually, the _"bwanas wa safari"_ and their ladies found that they liked and respected both hunters. They ran a good, efficient operation with fine cooks and gun bearers, and the skinners were first rate, treating trophies well, making them ready for the taxidermist. The African trackers were also superb. And both white men had droll, witty senses of humor.

Back in camp again, waiting for dinner, John Roxton and "Finn" Challenger and her distinguished husband had cornered Lady Roxton and had pretty much gotten her to agree to return here next year, with the same hunters. She hadn't gone quietly, threatening her husband with the need to buy her a new diamond brooch or an emerald necklace if she agreed to hunt again in Africa. But she had smirked a bit when he agreed. It had been a game with her.

"I'd have probably come, anyway," she admitted to the other women later. "But it gave me a good chance to test John's love and his willingness to buy me something worthwhile."

Veronica was appalled. "Do you really measure his love for you by what he'll buy you? Neddy buys me some nice things, and it's because he loves me. But his love is free and true. He just expresses it sometimes with gifts. I don't insist on them. If they're spontaneous expressions of his affection, I love them. But what I love is the man, not the material things that I can get him to give me!"

"Right on, Vee!" And Finn slapped hands with Mrs. Malone.

Marguerite was hurt. "Oh, I know that he loves me. He loves our children, more than I'd realized that a man can. But when you come home from a trip, isn't the first thing that the kids ask, 'what did you bring me'?"

Mrs. Challenger took Marguerite's hand and looked into her eyes. "Marguerite, they're little, and that's all that they understand, until they want a hug before bed. But you're a grown woman. You have one of the finest men who has ever lived, and you're jerking him around, demanding jewelry for doing what you should be willing to do because he loves you? That's not right. You know it, too."

Marguerite blushed. "Finnykins, I know. I'm ashamed. But I'm insecure. Unless a man will buy me things, I have trouble relating to him loving me. If John gets me expensive jewels, I know that he cares."

Veronica snorted. "Just cuddle with him and give him great nurturing and screw the way that he really likes some of the time, and bring him tea and a snack at night when the servants are off duty. He'll probably get you the jewels anyway, because he cares. Especially if he feels that he can talk to you about whatever troubles him, or just things that interest him. Men are easy, if you get a good one. Just make them feel taken care of, and they'll fall all over themselves telling you how much they love you. It won't always be vocal, but you'll know!"

Finn glowed, "Gosh, Vee, that's a really cool way to sum it up! It works, too, Marguerite. Give it a try. Just open yourself up to John. He really wants to get you things because he cares, not to buy you."

"But I enjoy my little games with men," Marguerite persisted. "I think that John understands what I'm doing, really. It probably even amuses him to buy me off this way. He has the money. I've gotten us all especially good prices for that Tecamaya treasure. (See "The Crystal Skull", if ever again posted on the Net.) And his family fortune is enormous; he has more investments than some banks. Well, nearly. Look: you said to have sex his favorite way. Let's us girls compare notes. What position is the favorite for George and for Ned? I'm curious to see if John's is the same." She sipped her gin and tonic, looking mischievously over the rim of her glass. She was enjoying throwing that part of their solution back at them, and was actually curious, although she had bedded a number of men.

Veronica was shocked. "Well, actually, Marguerite, that's pretty personal, isn't it?"

Finn snickered. "Vee, it's just us, not Mrs. Average Snooty Broad being asked in church. For George, I think it's..."

"Hush," said Veronica. "Here come the guys, with Stuart and Geoff."

So, the trio poised themselves as if they had been chatting about routine matters, and smiled at their men, Veronica hoping that her face wasn't so pink that Ned would later ask why.

Dinner was a major success, with breast of francolin for a first course, and venison steaks for a second. Potatoes and locally bought vegetables completed their repast, served with a splendid white burgundy for the fowl and Chateau Haut-Brion in Bordeaux for the meat.

"I love this. I could get used to this life," admitted Marguerite, swirling the last of the Chateau Coutet in her glass. The chilled bottle of Sauternes had been opened to accompany dessert of green grapes and cheese. "Geoff, pour me some more of this. I am going to be so stinking drunk that Roxton here is almost guaranteed to have his way with me tonight."

Smiling at her ribald humor, the hunter obliged, and offered the superb sweet wine around the table. The Challengers accepted, and Lord Roxton. The Malones begged off and soon departed for bed. The others lingered for tales of the African bush.

Both hunters told hair-raising accounts of elephant hunting, narrow escapes from lion and buffalo, and Blacklaws narrated his war career, in the former German Southwest Africa, now a protectorate of the Union of South Africa. He had been born near Johannesburg, and moved to Kenya only after the war. He was charming, dramatic in the right places, and grimly stirring in others.

Marguerite was enchanted. "Geoff, why aren't you married? I should have thought that some woman would have taken you off the market by now."

Both hunters looked uncomfortable, and Blacklaws said that he had been married, and very much in love. "My wife died two years ago," he said sadly. "Got blackwater fever, and there was nothing the doctor could do. I miss her, enormously. Haven't met a suitable replacement yet. Keep hoping that some rich client will come out here with a luscious daughter panting for my embrace."

"Geoff, we didn't know," said Finn Challenger. She put her hand over his, and he sensed the genuine sympathy in her touch.

Her husband said, "I lost a wife, but only after Finn and I had decided to marry, and I would have had to divorce her. I suppose that things worked out best that way. I didn't want to hurt Jessie. But I still cared for her and do mourn her loss. It must be especially painful to love a woman and lose her as you did."

The revelation of loss put a sad note on the evening. No one was surprised when Blacklaws, then Hamilton, took their leave.

"Don't stay up too much longer, you lot," cautioned Blacklaws. "Dawn comes early, and we want to get on to Stuart's fiancée's father's farm today. I think you'll find the leopard and bushbuck there as impressive as any in Africa, and Diana sets a wonderful table. She'll love meeting you ladies. She's the only white woman for some miles around here."

In their tent, Lady Roxton asked her husband why no one ever mentioned Mrs. Hardy. Did he know anything of her?

"Died of flu, in the war," he replied. "I asked that of Hamilton, and he told me that Angus Hardy and his young daughter came out here the year after the fighting ended. His parents stayed a few years, too, then gave up on Africa. But Angus and Diana love it. She's 18 now, and as much as she'd like other white women for company, she seems content here. Of course, she goes into Nairobi and other towns rather often, a couple of times a month. Angus was first out here for some years after the Boer War. I knew him slightly then."

"Gad, how dreary for Diana," commented his spouse. "It's not like having Harrod's at hand."

He shrugged. "Some women manage without. Look at Veronica. She and Ned spend most of each year on the Plateau. Look here, what was that you said about getting so drunk that I'd surely have my way with you? And about how you could get to like this, when you made me promise you jewels to come back next year?"

"Good thing that I held your feet to the fire and got the promise of jewels before I admitted that I enjoy this," she smiled.

"Now, see here, Marguerite," Roxton began.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Don't get upset, John. Just get even. Make me undress for you and do whatever you want for the rest of the night. I'll earn those jewels, even if I choose some that cost you a bundle."

"Well, if you put it that way...Get that skirt and those boots off and get over here. I'll finish undressing you, and we'll soon see whether you're worth gems of the value that I think you have in mind."

Hours later, she wriggled against him and asked, "So, have I earned my jewels?"

He smiled, playing with her right breast as he ran an appreciative hand down her body. "A king's ransom worth. But I want this nightly for the rest of the safari."

"Your heart wouldn't stand this every night for that long, John," she giggled. "But I'll let you go for it as long as your stamina lasts."

It seemed very little later that the personal boy was tapping at the tent entrance. _"Mimi letti chai, Bwana, Mem'Sahib_." ("I bring tea, master, mistress.")

CHAPTER EIGHT

The day was largely spent in travelling directly to Hardy's substantial farm. But breakfast was exceptional, with meat from the birds shot the day before, with the last of their eggs. More would have to be obtained from the Hardy family, who could also supply ice from their freezers.

But they had oranges, so there was fresh squeezed orange juice, and there was toast for Finn to butter for George, grinning at Marguerite as she did it. The latter lady rolled her eyes in mock disgust at the way that Mrs. Challenger pampered her husband. George's eyes twinkled, and he seemed happy with the attention.

Mrs. Malone smiled back at Finn and both looked deeply amused. The hunters noticed, and had to be told why this was funny. They were learning gradual bits of life from the Amazonian plateau where these six people had met and become almost family.

Finally, they were on their way, Veronica having paused first to visit the pelt and skull of her leopard. She handled the paws, again noting the long sharp claws that must have ended the lives of many animals. Finn stood by her, and said that if she had to be an animal, she might like to be a leopard.

"Why, pray tell?" asked Geoff Blacklaws. "Why not a chimpanzee, or something similar?"

"Because the leopard is such a skilled survivor. They exist in places where people never realize that they're there. I was once like that: I had to hide and forage carefully, and take what I could. I identify with leopards." Finn looked sober and reflective.

"And you're both beautiful," commented Stuart Hamilton. "You and the leopard. You have golden hair, and it has a golden hide. Spotted, of course, but the basic analogy is there."

Shortly after noon, having survived an encounter with a rhino that must go untold lest the story be further slowed; they came at last to the Hardy farm.

They entered the gate in a long wooden fence topped with barbed wire and came in time to a substantial stucco house with a tile roof. The styling was somewhat Mediterranean, with overtones of the Boer farms in Blacklaws's native South Africa. He felt slightly homesick on seeing it, although he had moved permanently to Kenya years before.

Angus Hardy and his daughter were warned of their coming by the black staff and by a quartet of dogs that swarmed around the cars.

"Rhodesian ridgebacks," said Hamilton, gesturing at the large canids. "Men use them in some areas to bay lions. Sit tight: here come Angus and Diana. They'll call them off. You can take your hand away from your pistol, Mr. Malone. You'll be safe." His eyes twinkled as he noticed that Ned had pulled Veronica back from the car door and unsnapped the flap on the holster to his Colt .45 automatic.

The dogs were soon herded aside and made to sit. Hardy greeted his future son-in-law with enthusiasm. He was a big man, hard-boned and with little fat, a couple of inches over six feet. The black hair had gone gray around the temples, and there were lines at the edges of his eyes, but they crinkled into smile lines as he introduced Diana and met the safari.

Hardy knew Blacklaws, who had often visited before, and who was a good friend of Hamilton's well before tney had formed their partnership.

Diana Hardy had the complexion associated with an English rose, tanned a bit by the African sun. She was outdoorsy, but slim and would look elegant in an evening gown. She had chestnut hair, worn halfway to her waist. In spite of having few other white women nearby, she wasn't at all "butch", but seemed delightfully feminine and charming. She was ecstatic over meeting other ladies of her kind, if one was rather wealthier than her own well-to-do father. She wore a white dress with green and yellow flowers that Marguerite thought was very tasteful.

Their young hostess shook hands with everyone, and led them into her substantial home, where they sat in a spacious living room while servants brought in tea and cakes. She took their hats, and asked whether they had eaten lunch.

"We'd rather hoped to sponge off of you, Angus," said Hamilton. "But we can have our boys slap together some cold cuts and whatnot, if need be."

Hardy and his lass would not hear of this, and they summoned the headboy and sent him on his way to the cook, with orders to make ready something suitable.

"Shot a buffalo recently," said Hardy, "and the meat has been hanging to ripen a bit. Should be tender by now. We'll know soon enough. Have it for supper, if you'll stay. In the meantime, our cook can heat up some lamb from the refrigerator and make up a decent lunch. Stuart, my lad, you're looking well. I see that Diana thinks so. She all but worships you, you know."

He chuckled as his daughter blushed. She had gone to stand by Hamilton, and held his hand, looking at him with evident pleasure.

As the men got acquainted, Diana asked the ladies to follow her and see the house. "I want to get some decorating tips from you. Mum did well, I think, but I need to know how I can improve. Daddy will be left to his own devices after Stuart and I marry. I want him to have a house that is more than a man's den."

And so it went, everyone getting caught up on one another's' news and feeling each other out, as new acquaintances must.

Roxton admired the elephant tusks that framed the main doorway into the rear portions of the house, and a huge mounted buffalo head above the fireplace. Finn escaped from the other women after a time and joined him in studying these and other trophies of the hunt, including lion rugs and a leopard pelt even larger than Veronica's.

Hardy noticed her interest and announced that this cattle killer had also taken two children from a native village. "Got him last year, with a .275 just at dusk," he related. "Over 180 pounds, one of the biggest cats of his kind that I've seen. And I've seen a good many."

And so the conversation went.

But back at the safari cars, one man looked craftily at the house and listened to the laughter and talk from the bwanas and their women with a degree of smugness not usual in one of his duties. Soon, he would see those women naked and in chains, and pocket more money than he had had before in his life. Khalid awaited him on the morrow, when he would betray the Mem'Sahibs. He wondered what white women looked like with their clothes off. He had heard that some parts of them were pink! Khalid had promised him a chance to see. The money was more important, but the fringe benefits of this job were nonetheless good to anticipate. He wondered whether the bwanas would have to be killed to get their women. Maybe they would all be away hunting. He hoped so. He had no desire to get shot, if his treachery became known and a battle ensued...

Although much good cheer and new companionship was achieved during that night at Angus Hardy's farm, we must move on to more dramatic events.

After a night in which they were shown excellent hospitality, the explorers met after breakfast the next day to discuss their plans. They laid out a map of the area, and Hardy told them over a second cup of tea all around that if they wanted to shoot Greater Kudu, they would be better off to travel some 40 miles to the northeast.

"You can hunt them here," he said, noting on the map the right area, "then swing back by here and take some fine leopard and bushbuck, as you wanted. Spend a few days here, if you like, and we'll enjoy the company. Roxton, I remember you from before the war. Pity about your brother. My condolences." He referred to Lord Roxton having accidentally shot his elder brother while saving him from a great ape that sought to kill him. Alas, the bullet had passed through the ape and into William Roxton. John was cleared of any wrongdoing in the coroner's inquest, and received the title of Earl of Avebury. But the incident had tormented him ever since.

He hated the mention of it, but realized that Hardy was trying to be sympathetic. And he was clearly a generous host and a nice man, whose acquaintance might prove valuable when the Roxtons made future safaris here.

As the hunters chatted and made their plans, no one noticed that a servant lurked just beneath the open window of the room where they talked. He then went to the grove of gorgeous jacaranda trees that flanked one side of the house, some 100 yards from the home. He was met there by two Arabs whom he knew as Ahmed and Selim.

These worthies listened carefully, making notes as the traitor told them the schedule that he had overheard.

"Tomorrow afternoon, we shall be here, at the springs near the river you see on the map. The springs are not shown, but are here," he gestured on the map. "It is a brushy area with clearings. I know it well. They will doubtless camp there, and it is one of the few places where the women can swim. They have been complaining about not being able to do that. Here, a big pool has no crocodiles, and they will likely swim tomorrow afternoon as the men hunt. So they have said. Miss Diana wishes to come along, and they have agreed. Thus, we will have her in camp too, along with the other three. This is joyous news. We will not have to come here later to collect her. Is this not good fortune, brothers?" He smiled an evil aura of triumph on his features.

"Indeed so," agreed Ahmed, the senior of the two uninvited guests. "We will continue to shadow them, out of sight, and they will see no dust trail. When they have camped, we will bring up the camels and the horses, and strike when the moment is ours. This swim and rest outing that they plan is ideal for our purposes. Soon, these spoiled infidel girls will be in our hands.

"We may not use them, but can do all but enter them. I look forward to taking amusement from proud Western women. Their sale will bring much money. But I will know added satisfaction from seeing them squirm in our clutches and struggle to accept that they have become slaves, as is proper for such pretty, arrogant females. The Sultan of Amarrah will be pleased. Perhaps we shall even receive a bonus. This will surely be the best shipment of girls that he will see this year. Normally, only one or two girls are sent to him at a time."

"What of the ivory and the black girls?" asked the traitor.

"They will come with the camels. The whole caravan will then move as quickly as we can to meet the motor transport at the _dukka_. (Writer's note: Trading post, a backcountry store, usually run by Indians.) The cars here will return to Nairobi. They would be too easily stopped by the police if we used the roads. With the animals to carry us, we can operate far from roads, and they will soon lose our trail. Their own vehicles will be unable to follow us over rough ground. Brother, take care. We will hopefully see you tomorrow afternoon. The time is approaching. "

And they parted, the servant hastening back to the safari before he was missed. He helped to load equipment onto the trucks, and seemed happier than usual, thought the whites.

CHAPTER NINE

They camped that night at the springs they had been told about, and all got a good nights rest, some after a bit of nocturnal exercise.

Diana Hardy was glad to have the company of the other women, and pressed them to tell her all about life in Britain, fashion, men, and other issues that she could not discuss with any but her fair sex.

After breakfast, Marguerite tried to make Roxton sit nearby with his rifle while she and the other girls swam. He was obstinate, pointing out that they needed to hunt awhile for kudu, and then kill several animals to set out as leopard baits.

"Just come with us, Marguerite, and swim this afternoon. We'll all take a rest then, and nothing urgent will be on the agenda." He almost swayed her, but she was in one of her moods where she wanted her way, right then. They argued, making everyone else ill at ease.

Finally, Ned Malone had had enough. "Look," he said, "Marguerite, I'll stay in camp and guard you ladies as you swim. Veronica and Diana want to play bridge, too, and we can do that while we wait for the others to get back. I enjoy bridge, so I don't mind being the fourth player. Okay?"

A little embarrassed now that she felt everyone else looking apprehensively or resentfully at her, Marguerite agreed. She even walked Roxton to the car and kissed him goodbye. "Just get back here as soon as you can," she said. "I want to take a walk with you while the sun is still well up."

"You'll be all right with Ned," he said, as if reassuring himself that this was true. "The pros say that there aren't any crocs around that pool, but watch for them, anyway. One may have moved in, even if the water is too clear and moves faster than they like. The pools are too small for hippos, but watch for snakes."

"John, I'm not the village idiot," she protested. "Of course, I'll watch for snakes. We'll be careful. Just get back here so we can have some time together before it gets too dark."

"We can't have time together after it gets dark?" He raised his eyebrows playfully to her, smiling his smile that always devastated her, making her a litle weak in the knees.

She was exasperated. Men! One track minds! "Oh, we'll manage that, too, but if you want me in the mood for it, don't aggravate me by staying out all day playing Great White Hunter. We'll have dinner ready early, about five, I should think. Be here before then. Understand?"

"Yes, Mommy," he retorted. He kissed her and got into the truck. She handed him his rifle and some full water bottles, his binocular.

"Wait for me! I'm coming, too!" And Finn ran up, rifle, binocular, and a bag of other items with her. She had been planning to swim and get better acquainted with Diana Hardy, but the lure of the hunt, and that she'd miss sharing the companionship of her husband and her best pal Johnny, had gotten to her. The squabble between the Roxtons had decided her. This was not a day in which she wanted to sit around camp with Marguerite when she could be hunting, seeing how leopard baits were hung. Taking photos for her next book...

"We've plenty of lunch for another," observed Hamilton. "Glad to have you aboard, Mrs. Challenger. Anyone else coming?"

No one was, and they were off in a flurry of red dust.

"Well," said Veronica, "it's just us girls and Neddy. Lets' enjoy ourselves to the max, as Finn says. We won't get another chance to swim while we're out in the bush, so lets' make the most of it."

"Maybe I should swim, too. I can leave my rifle on the bank, just in case." Ned knew the likely answer to his suggestion, but wanted to needle Marguerite.

"Actually, Ned, I'd like that," said his wife. "Wait until we girls are done, then join me while the others have their hair done by the personal boys. We haven't swum alone together in months."

Ned felt good about that, and wasn't too unhappy as he joined the girls at the spring, carrying their bathing attire, towels, and the like.

The girls frolicked in the widest pool, happy to be wet, together, and getting to know each other. Diana found that she had much in common with her two new friends, and she had read Ned's and Finn's books on their time in the Amazon. She was intrigued with the mysterious plateau that had held the Challenger expedition trapped for over four years, for all but Finn. Even she had been there for over two years before they had found an escape route. What Diana did not know was that Finn had come not just from a war-ravaged city, but was also from the future! And the discovery of dinosaurs and certain other aspects of the adventures that the expedition had experienced were carefully omitted from their accounts. They had chosen to protect the Plateau and its dreadful secrets from outside interference.

Even so, both the Malone and the Challenger volumes were chockfull of jungle derring-do and narrow escapes, all of them true. Miss Hardy was thrilled to actually know the persons who had experienced - and written about - such deeds.

"What are Brazilian bathing suits like?" she wanted to know. "Or, did you all just use British styles?"

Veronica and Marguerite looked at each other and blushed. "You tell her," said the blonde lass.

"Well, we didn't exactly have real bathing suits," the other lady confessed. "We just swam nude. Of course, we all knew one another quite well. Finny was our new member, but she just thought it was fun. What she called, 'way cool' in the strange dialect of English that she grew up speaking."

Diana was initially shocked, but found herself laughing as Veronica and Marguerite told her added tales of their swims and some of their misadventures.

Ned sat just out of sight, a .30/06 Springfield sporting rifle across his lap, a book in his hand. He rolled his eyes occasionally as new peals of feminine laughter erupted from the reeds behind him. But he enjoyed his book and watching a Nile monitor lizard that was searching for crocodile eggs or birds' nests. He decided to shoot the four foot reptile if it went toward the women. Otherwise, he rather liked seeing it until it became aware of him and scuttled off into the water and swam downstream.

Finally, the women were through, and he escorted them back to camp.

There, he and Veronica decided to lie down for awhile in their tent, while Diana Hardy and Marguerite Roxton had their hair washed and groomed by the personal boys. As Diana wasn't a client, she used Finn's boy, Joseph. Juma, as usual, attended to Lady Roxton.

The sun was warm, the breeze mild, and none of them had any idea that tragedy was about to strike.

Marguerite's hair was done, and she was lying back in a reclining camp chair, her eyes closed, talking to Diana. That girl's hair was being brushed by the the boy who had washed it. Juma had worked faster, and Marguerite's hair had already been brushed.

She had a drink on a small folding table at her side, and had set it down after sipping it and leaned back. She was just answering some question from Diana, when she sensed a shadow approaching. She opened her eyes, but it was only Juma.

Marguerite felt him lift something from the table, and sat up to tell him to leave her drink; she wasn't done with it. But it wasn't the gin and tonic that he had taken. Instead, he held her Smith & Wesson .38, the same basic model as Finn's. Marguerite's had the optional rounded butt, with a four-inch barrel, an inch shorter than on Finn's gun, but a bit handier, which Marguerite liked. It was more powerful and easier to shoot well than her old hammerless model, and she had grown quite fond of this newer gun.

She had hidden the revolver under a small towel, and didn't even know that Juma knew it was there. Since the episode with the snake at the table, she had kept a pistol at hand. This was, after all, the African bush. Who knew what might appear?

"Here!" she exclaimed. "Juma, put that back. Don't be meddling with it. It's loaded. Someone might get hurt!"

"I will not put it back. This is mine now, Lady Roxton. Stand and raise your hands. You are my prisoner."

"You cheeky wog! Put that down, as Lady Roxton says!" Diana was standing now; sure that she knew how to control the situation. She had been ordering black servants around for most of her life.

Diana, like Marguerite, wore only lingerie beneath her robe. The women had wanted to wait until their hair was done before dressing. Now, she felt vulnerable. But a "boy" was still a boy, and this one was far out of line. She should really speak to Stuart about him when her fiancé returned...

"You, too, Miss Hardy!" retorted Juma. "Get your hands up. Lady Roxton, you heard me. Stand and raise your hands, now! I do not bluff!" His voice sounded different. There was no deference left in it, and there was a hardness that was new. His face was grim, and his eyes flashed. He was serious!

"What the hell is this?" demanded Marguerite, rising, raising her hands. "Is this a holdup? If I give you my jewels, what good will it do you? Where do you think you can go?"

"Give me that gun, you bloody savage!" snapped Diana. She came around the chair and slapped Juma so fast that he was taken aback. But he recovered at once and backhanded the Hardy girl so hard that she tripped over Marguerite's chair and fell.

"Both of you stand here and take off those robes," Juma ordered.

As he spoke, other black men and a number of Arabs, all armed, swarmed from the bush and ran over to the women. It was becoming obvious that this was real and that Juma was a traitor, in cahoots with this gang.

One of the Arabs ran into the Malone tent, where he had seen the occupants go after they had come back from the springs above the camp. Within, Ned and Veronica had been talking, she lying on her cot as he rubbed her back. She wore only a sky blue bra and bikini panties, with pretty lace trim. Ned had taken off his gun belt and his shirt. Neither Malone was dressed for trouble, nor was there was any reason to expect any.

They had just heard some of the noise from outside. As the man entered, Malone sprang up, lunging for a rifle in a corner of the tent, behind his own cot.

The Arab struck downward with a club, hitting Malone on the head. He dropped like a rock, sprawling across his bed.

His wife rolled over and snatched her revolver, like Finn's, from the holster that hung on the end of her cot. A second Arab bounded over and twisted it from her grasp. As he did so, it fired the shot passing harmlessly through the canvas top of the tent.

Veronica was stronger than they had expected, and she kneed one invader in the stomach and smashed the heel of her hand into his face. He went over backward, screaming a thin howl of pain. The second grabbed her around the body, pinning her arms to her sides. Calling for aid, he dragged her past his incapacitated friend. Another man ran over to help.

Marguerite and Diana could do nothing. They were now covered by a dozen guns, and both raised their hands as ordered. The boy who had dried Diana's hair lay on the ground, struck down by the butt of a rifle as he tried to defend the women.

Everyone in camp heard the shot from the Malone tent, and all ran to see what had happened. It did no good.

The Wakamba tracker drew his native sword and cut down one African who was trying to subdue Veronica, but another shot him through the body with a Webley revolver. The heavy bullet dropped him as quickly if he was a French noble being guillotined during the Revolution.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. The other African staff were rounded up and made to sit in a circle, with their hands on their heads. Veronica was held by one man while another tied her wrists behind her, and then bound her ankles.

She was made to kneel near Marguerite and Diana, while they removed their robes at the command of an Arab who seemed to be in charge. Marguerite had seen him before, at the New Stanley Hotel in Nairobi. He wore a green turban. And now, seeing him close, she realized with a shock why he had seemed familiar. She had frequently danced before him as a slave girl, owned by the Sultan of Amarrah!

The intruders quickly began gathering up guns, jewelry, money, and anything else that took their fancy.

"Be careful to take only what you can carry," reminded Khalid. "The camels will not transport more than their limits!" Then, he felt foolish. There was no need to have told the surviving Africans from the safari that he had camels nearby.

He could simply kill them, and the thought crossed his mind. But there was one man dead, shot, and another would probably die, his head smashed in with a rifle butt. If he was caught, that would add murder to kidnapping, slave trafficking, ivory poaching, and any other charges that the British thought to make. More murders would be even worse. And he saw no real reason to slay them all. Some were even fellow Muslims.

He turned to the two brunette women. "Remove your clothing. Put it in Marguerite's chair. Do not delay. We must soon be gone."

"Undress for you, you dirty Arab dog? I most certainly will not!" Diana was shocked and angered.

Khalid shrugged. "You will strip, or it will be done for you. And you are now a slave girl. Keep that in mind when speaking to me, your captor."

"Wait!" said Marguerite. "If you're going to sell us or hold us for ransom, my husband will pay it, have no fear. Please let us keep what little clothing we have. You can see that we have no weapons. If you are crude with us and are captured, it will go hard with you to have stripped European women!"

"Enough!" snapped Khalid. "Ahmed, Yusuf, remove their clothes. Get help to hold them, if need be."

"Wait!" yelped Lady Roxton. "If you put it that way, I'll take off my own clothes." And she peeled off her lacy white camisole and again raised her hands.

"Remove the knickers, too, Lady Roxton," demanded Ahmed, the second in command of the gang. "Then, stand with your hands raised until you can be bound."

Marguerite shrugged, stepped out of her brief white panties and did as told.

Diana stood stunned, then, seeing men move toward her, she did the same, removing her bra and panties. She noticed that her companions wore quite brief knickers for the times, and wondered where they had gotten them. She had never seen any lingerie so provocative. It wasn't quite respectable, she thought, but she wondered whether Stuart would enjoy seeing her in similar styles. Oh! Poor Stuart! He would be so worried when he returned to camp, and found what had happened. And the other ladies' husbands... They all seemed so much in love, despite the argument that morning between the Roxtons.

She felt her hands being pulled behind her and submitted as they were cuffed. She saw Marguerite place her hands behind her, and saw her handcuffed, also. She noticed that the handcuffs used were the rigid Irish 8 sort, which held the wrists tightly together, with the lock off to the right of one bracelet. There were no links. Marguerite had also noticed, recalling having once worn such bracelets when accused of being a highwaywoman in a quaint little village on the Plateau some years before. She had nearly been hanged before being rescued by her man and their friends. (See the TLW episode, "The Outlaw".) At least, this bunch wasn't going to hang her!

Then, Khalid commanded Marguerite to come to him and turn her back.

"Why?" She wanted to know. "Most men prefer looking at my front. Don't my breasts please you? What do you want; some heifer whose udders would win a blue ribbon at the county fair?"

In spite of her situation, Diana laughed. Someone swatted her on the bottom for it.

"Just turn, Marguerite," said Khalid, "Or..."

"I know. It will be done for me. I surrender." And she turned, hoping that he wasn't looking for what she suspected.

He looked at the back of her left shoulder, confirmed that she was marked from birth with the symbol that he sought, and had her turn.

"Marguerite, I know who you are," he said. He showed her the detailed sketch of her birthmark. "You are an escaped slave, despite all of your present pretensions, and you will soon be returned to your rightful owner. Your master died in the war, but his son now sits on the throne of Amarrah, and he will be pleased to meet you." He smirked.

Marguerite had been thinking. Now she said, "You imbecile! I am now Lady Roxton, and my husband is not only a lord; he is an Earl! The XVIIIth Earl of Avebury! And for the past year, he has sat on the Monarch's Privy Council. He is a personal advisor to King George! For the Sultan of a foreign state to have me kidnapped is probably tantamount to an act of war! If you know what is good for you, release us at once and go! If you are fortunate, you may escape. But if you take us, British women and the wife of an Earl, the search will be swift and relentless. You will spend the rest of your life in prison, or hang! I will give you what money and jewels I have, but release us, and go, while you can!"

He scoffed. "Obviously, I have thought of this. I undertook your capture, anyway. We move ivory and black girls routinely between here and Amarrah. Why should we not get away with transporting you?" He looked to his men. "Here, you! Put those guns in their cases. We do not want them scratched up. They will sell for good prices where they will go."

To others, he said, "Take these Africans and tie them securely in the tents, where they will not be quickly seen when the men return here."

He turned back to Marguerite and Diana. "Where is the other blonde, Mrs. Challenger? She is worth some ten thousand pounds to me."

Told by Juma that Finn had gone with her husband and the other men, Khalid sighed theatrically. "Oh, well: we have the others. We cannot hope for perfection. Marguerite, Diana: kneel, and spread your thighs widely. Make yourselves look humiliated and decorative. Bring Veronica and untie her hands. If she fails to strip, just rip her bra off and remove her pretty blue knickers. But I want her wrists in steel, not just those ropes."

"Marguerite! Where do you girls get these pretty, small, knickers? Is it a new fashion thing in England?" He picked up her bikini panties and studied them.

"We make them ourselves, after the fashion of a city where our friend Mrs. Challenger used to live. She and I design them and have them made in London for ourselves and a select clientele of friends and acquaintances who appreciate such styles. We tried to sell them to major stores, but the buyers felt that the moral temper of the nation wouldn't allow them to sell them. We actually raised some eyebrows among those prim merchants." In spite of her circumstances, she managed to smile wryly as she recalled the reaction of some store owners.

Her ankles freed, Veronica was marched over to the others, and her bonds removed until she had stripped, glowering at their captors. She then offered her hands and felt them being locked behind her back.

Khalid watched, and then said, "Turn the cuffs vertically, to have this girl's wrists locked in the bracelets one above the other with her arms folded. This will further restrain her movements. She has a sullen, defiant look about her. I do not trust her. In fact, stand Marguerite up and fasten her that way. She is known to be tricky. And Diana, too."

He looked speculatively at Diana, She was less crafty or violent than the safari client girls, and looked frightened out of her wits. She would be less likely to try to slip her hands around in front or otherwise cause trouble. Still, having her confined the same way would daunt her spirit and make her feel more hopeless. And, frankly, he liked the look of women secured that way. Also, having their hands locked at their waists instead of lower down exposed their shapely buttocks for unobstructed switching if they had to be hurried along.

"Get these girls fastened in coffle. I will oversee packing the jewels and counting their cash. Is the Malone man dead?"

"Who knows? He is unconscious, at least. We can be gone before he wakes. If he is dead, we cannot change that." Ahmed was irritated by the question.

"Please see if my husband is alive! I will do anything you ask, but I have to know. I love that man!" Veronica was about to weep, and it showed. She was also a little uncomfortable with her hands locked well up her back, at waist level. One wrist was confined above the other, in a "stacked" effect. It reminded her of trying to zip a dress when Ned wasn't handy to help. Even with the greater flexibility of women's' arms, it was somewhat stressful to endure. It made her feel even more helpless than she had been. The Irish 8 cuffs were designed to hold prisoners well, and she was becoming discouraged, although usually an optimist. But, although frightened about being a totally naked, helpless prisoner, her first concern was for poor Ned, whom she had seen as he was struck down.

Khalid nodded, and a man went to check. He returned to say that Malone was alive, but that his pulse was thready.

"Leave him," demanded Ahmed. "We need to be underway. Mrs. Malone, will you pleasure me as I wish if I agree not to kill your husband?"

Veronica nodded, crying. "I will do whatever you ask of me, but please let Ned live."

Ahmed laughed. "Very well, he will live. But tonight, when we camp, I will have you whipped for your resistance. One of my men's' hand was badly burned when your gun discharged as you were disarmed. For this, you will serve as an example to the other girls of how rebellious females are dealt with."

Veronica nodded. "I'll do as you say. Just let Ned live!" This was against her nature, for she was independent and bold. But her love for Ned was strong, and she was surprised to realize just how much she feared for him. I'll never take Neddy for granted again, she promised herself. That's if I ever get to see him again, have him hold me in his arms. Not that I took him for granted, anyway. I was just so secure with him.

Khalid disappeared into the tents, looking for valuables. The three girls were lined up, Veronica in front, then Diana, then Marguerite. Ahmed wished to have the local girl between the two who knew one another so well. It might discourage them from plotting.

A long, stout stick was brought, with a deep vee fork in each end. The forward-facing fork was placed behind Veronica's neck and a piece tied in front over her throat, locking her neck in the wooden triangle thus created. The forward piece had a metal ring, through which a chain could be locked, to attach one girl to another or to serve as a leash attachment.

The rear fork went around Diana's throat, and a piece was fastened behind her neck. A chain went from there to the forward piece attached to Marguerite's throat as her assembly was put in place.

Being the last girl in the coffle or string of girls, Marguerite had only a wooden triangle enclosing her neck, with no stick extending behind her. Only a short fork was behind her neck. With the connecting sticks in place, the three girls were secured together by the neck. They were allowed to don their boots before being coffled, for their feet would not withstand walking over this ground barefoot. Ahmed made a note to take their boots again as they were loaded onto the camels.

Finally, Khalid came out, and the raiders left, taking the girls with them. A man walked beside them, occasionally switching any girl who tried to walk slowly. They set a brisk pace, for they needed to disappear from here before any help could arrive for the safari.

After walking for about half a mile, they met the caravan of camels and horses, and the coffles of African girls and ivory, as Khalid's main column located the raiders.

They loaded the loot onto camels, and the white girls were taken out of their neck harnesses. Their handcuffs were removed and their wrists bound in front, with new lines then used to tie them again, this time running loops of rope around their waists. Their hands were thus tied to their bellies, with less than an inch of room to lift their wrists. Their boots were removed, and their knees and ankles bound.

They were then placed into large hammocks, one girl to a hammock. The hammocks were padded with a blanket, and white sheets were placed over each girl. The white cotton would reflect some of the sun's heat. Marguerite had feared that they would be blindfolded or gagged, but neither happened. Khalid cautioned them to speak softly, if they needed to mention anything important. Otherwise, they would be gagged. He would wait until much later to blindfold them, after it was obvious that the caravan was bound for the dukka. He did not wish them to know that they would be kept there for a few hours, or until the cars arrived to take them to the coast.

A problem arose when it was found that there were not enough camels to carry all of the new black slaves. There were two too many. And all must ride; anyone walking would soon be left behind.

"Parade the African slaves before me. I will choose the two least attractive. They will be left behind." Khalid was loath to leave any valuable girls, but camels were well known to refuse to travel if overloaded.

The black maidens were all attractive by African standards, for he captured only lovely girls. Ugly ones would not sell on the slave blocks in Arabian countries. But two were chosen, and he had them unbound.

They were made to sit with their legs spread, and then made to place their arms through their legs, with the outer sides of their elbows and wrists against the inside of their knees and ankles. They were tied tightly in this position.

"Shall I strangle them?" asked Ahmed.

"No," said Khalid. "I have a better idea. Tie them together by the neck, with about three feet of rope between them. They cannot go anywhere. We can pass time on the trail in speculation about whether thirst will take them before lions or hyenas eat them." He chuckled evilly.

"But, Khalid," protested the other villain, "if the white men find them first, they will tell them which way we have gone."

Khalid smiled and said softly, "Yes, brother. But when we pass from their sight, we will change direction and brush out our trail. If these slaves speak, the information that they give will mislead our pursuers."

Both men grinned, for this was good fun, and might aid their cause.

Finally, with everyone having been allowed water, a whip cracked, the camels rose, and the caravan trekked off, taking three white girls and 14 black ones to captivity in a far land.

CHAPTER TEN

Ned Malone woke with his head feeling as if a thunderstorm was going on inside of his skull. He lay still until his mind focused on his situation, then staggered up and looked around. Realizing what had happened, he sought a firearm. Either wild animals might come, or the slavers might return.

The guns were gone, and so were his watch and his wallet. Then, he remembered that he had fallen across his pillow when he had been struck. He lifted the pillow, and found his spare Colt .45 automatic pistol! Rummaging through some blankets beside Veronica's cot, he found her spare pistol, a Colt .32 automatic. But the ammunition was gone, and he had only the loaded magazines already in the guns.

He had evidently not been searched, once his money and watch were stolen, and his pocketknife was still in his right trouser pocket. It was a Case brand stockman's pattern, with three sharp blades and a handsome stag antler handle with nickel silver bolsters at each end of the handle.

His handkerchief was there, and some coins and a nail clipper were in his other pocket. He never carried anything but his knife and the handkerchief in the right pocket, to keep coins from chewing up the finish on his fine knife. He thought bitterly that he could use the handkerchief to dry his eyes, for he felt like crying. Some hero I was! He was bitter as he cursed himself for not saving his wife and their friends. From what he had heard, he knew that they had been attacked by bandits, and he had heard the brunette women being told to remove their robes. He wondered if they had been killed after rape, but saw no one. So, they had been taken.

That figured. If he was a robber, he would have taken such desirable women, too. Probably, they would be used to entertain their captors. They might even be sold, but Ned couldn't be sure that the raiders were slavers. He had heard only a little of their conversation.

Then, he heard a snuffling sound behind him and a wail arose from one of the distant tents. He saw a hyena trying to open the tied flap of the tent. He drew the heavier .45 and sent a bullet through its shoulder. It yelped, spun around, and fell down, snapping at the wound. Several others galloped out from behind two other tents, and he heard native voices crying out to him.

"Bwana! Free us! We are tied within the tents!" Doubtless, they had not called out earlier, not knowing if he was one of the Arabs. And they may simply not have heard him. Now, they had decided to chance calling for help.

Ned finished off the dying hyena with a head shot as it lunged at him. He ran over to the large cook tent, opened the flap, and saw the prisoners. His knife soon freed them, and they went to the other tents.

In all, they freed 11 men, and found the bodies of the two who had been killed earlier. (The personal boy who had tried to help had died of his head injury.)

Without a watch, Ned had no idea how long he had been unconscious. But the Africans pointed to the position of the sun, and one who spoke some English told him that perhaps an hour or two had passed.

They confirmed that all three women had been taken, marched off naked in coffle, their hands cuffed behind them. It was obvious from the neck harnesses that they wore that their captors were organized slavers, who frequently used that means of fastening their prisoners in line. Also, the fact that the "boys" had seen the girls being handcuffed meant that these were more than simple bandits, who would have probably just tied the beauties.

Ned treated some wounds suffered by the Africans, and they set about finding food and water for lunch. No one had eaten, and doing so would pass the time until the others returned. And Ned knew that they needed to eat. He meant to be ready to leave as soon as possible. These fiends might have Veronica and their friends for now, but he meant to have his wife back! He thought of how she and the other girls must feel, and shuddered as he donned his shirt. Damn, I love that woman, he reflected.

He walked into his tent so that the Africans wouldn't see him cry as he wept for Veronica and for his shame at having failed to protect her.

Ned was still groggy, but he felt better after taking two aspirin and sitting on his bed for awhile. The headboy, Moussa, sat with him, detailing all that had happened.

"Will you men stay on with the safari?" asked Ned.

Moussa nodded. "I think that all will stay. We have worked long for Bwana Blacklaws, who will compensate us and probably pay an indemnity for the dead boys. He is a kind man, and good to work for. Juma was a traitor. I think now that the boy who went missing was killed, and Juma was sent to apply for his job. Bwana Blacklaws needed to hire a new personal boy, and Juma had good papers. Possibly, they were faked, but he knew most of what he had to do. He may have worked for another safari at some time. The rest, he could see by watching the other personal boys, and just doing as told."

He smiled bitterly. "It is a pity that Mem'Sahib Finn didn't let that snake bite him, for he was a snake, himself. We would have done better without him."

Malone agreed. "I guess that Finn's crystal ball needed new batteries that morning. She could not foresee what would come."

Moussa looked alarmed. He was Muslim, and rather enlightened, compared to most Africans. But magic and dark forces were still terrifying to him. "Mem'Sahib Finn is a _juju_ woman?" His eyes looked large in his face and he seemed uneasy.

Malone laughed. "No, she is not magical, a witch doctor. I was just making a joke. Now, Mem'Sahib Marguerite is another matter. Don't ever get her mad, or she will make your life miserable!"

Moussa nodded. "We saw the small birth sign on the back of her shoulder. She was marked, and we think that is for more than being a slave girl. She is more. I sense it. But any white woman can make her man miserable. I have seen it often. If she makes water come from her eyes, her man rushes to comfort her and do as she says. If she speaks harshly to him, he will usually try to calm her and do her bidding. To us Africans, this is odd. You white men build great buildings and huge ships, and make guns. You are powerful beyond our understanding. Your medicine men work wonders with their drugs and healing powers. But you do not understand a simple thing like how to keep your women in line. If an African girl speaks too badly to her man, he chastises her, and she soon learns to hold her tongue. Bwana, with all respect, I fear that the missing Mem'Sahibs will be taught to hold their tongues, and to please men. I hope that those who took them will not be too severe with them. They were kind to us safari boys. Your group is the nicest that I have seen here in some time."

Malone thanked him, and said, "Moussa, Mem'Sahib Marguerite really is sort of a _juju_ woman. She may be the reincarnation of a priestess of our kind from thousands of years ago. I have seen strange things which make me believe that the soul of a woman named Morrighan lives within Marguerite Roxton. But if you treat her well, she is kind, and will probably reward you. If she does not, her man will be embarrassed, and he will reward you. Lord Roxton is the finest man whom I have ever known. Bwana Challenger is also a great man, and he and Mem'Sahib Finn work wonders with medicine in their lab. He is sometimes preoccupied with the little animals that he traps, to study for science. But Mem'Sahib Finn takes good care of him, and she is kind to you fellows on the safari. These are good people, and we will pay you for your loyalty, and to stay. And we will try our very best to get our women back, and to save the African girls that you said these people also hold."

"If you cannot recover them...?" Moussa was afraid to hear the answer, and he hoped that his comment would not anger Bwana Malone

The safari cars raised dust long before they got close enough to camp to see that all was not as expected. Ned walked out and waved them to come to him, quickly.

"That looks a bit odd," speculated Roxton. He took out his binocular, as did Finn. They soon realized that none of the women was present and saw the two bodies that had been set to the side. Two Africans with spears salvaged from their own tents guarded them, for the smell attracted scavengers.

They stopped and glassed the scene with binoculars, then loaded rifles and proceeded carefully. There were more cars than usual, for the District Commissioner and his wife had joined them, as had Angus Hardy. The DC and his wife were meeting Hardy at his farm on the way home after a meeting in Nairobi. They had with them Capt. Craig Thorne of the King's African Rifles. Hardy wanted his daughter to come home and play hostess to their guests. Thorne wanted to catch a gang of ivory poachers and slave traders.

Proceeding cautiously, the vehicles pulled up and asked a distraught Ned what was going on. He was more than glad to tell them.

Challenger sat Malone down in a chair at the table, and studied his eyes to see if he appeared to be concussed. His head wound was tender, and they dressed it properly as the others circulated through the camp, setting things as best they could in their proper places. This was long before CSI lab techniques, and no one expected to find many clues that would be useable by the standards of that day.

What was valuable was the testimony of the safari boys and the little that Ned had overheard before he lunged for the rifle.

The DC, whose name was Sir John Musgrave, took copious notes. Capt. Thorne listened carefully, and occasionally asked an insightful question.

At the end, the boys served dinner, which Ned had had them readying.

"May as well eat. We can't do damn all otherwise, with darkness coming," declared Musgrave. "Early in the morning, we'll go on to your farm, Angus, and I'll establish a field headquarters there. You have a radio, and we can contact police units all the way between here and Mombasa and Malindi. They may try to slip the girls onto an obscure dhow in some remote harbor, and we'll try to cover that possibility, too, insofar as is possible. I'll notify the Governor, and he will no doubt contact the Admiralty to increase Royal Navy patrols off the coast, all the way through the Indian Ocean. The fleet has ships on station there, anyway, looking for just such smuggling operations as this. We shall be as thorough as ever we can."

Lady Musgrave expressed her sympathy to all present. She knew how much it must affect the men to have lost their ladies, and Finn was also especially sympathetic toward Malone. She rubbed his shoulders and told him that he must avoid feeling guilty, when he needed to think positively.

"We'll get those creeps, Neddy," she promised. "Vee and Marguerite are my best friends, and I really liked Diana, too. Johnny and I can track as well as most, and we have a surprise. Geoff has a Wanderobo among his boys!"

"Whoop-de-do," muttered a despondent Ned. "What's a Wanderobo, and how can that help?"

"Native tribe," answered Blacklaws. "Probably the best trackers in all of Africa, save perhaps for the Bushmen back where I came from. They are more primitive than most natives, and live in the forests. Pretty wild, but this chap has been with me for two years, and he's reliable. If there's any trail at all, we'll find it and follow. The rub is, the way they went isn't accessible to motor vehicles. Craig, how far back is your troop?"

"My lieutenant will have them at Mr. Hardy's place sometime tonight," answered the soldier. "We'll meet them there tomorrow, tell them what's happened, and set out in pursuit. But they do have a long lead on us. Look here, Mr. Hardy: you're a farmer. Have you got a cattle trailer or something that can take cavalry horses? If we can take the troop back down the road far enough, there's a mountain pass where we can get in hot pursuit of this lot. They probably don't know about it, or just don't expect cavalry to be in the area. Cars can't make it through there, but my lads can. Or, we may be able to flag down a train and see if they have empty boxcars and can reverse far enough down the track to let us ride cross-country and reach that pass. Otherwise, they'll lose us. They were clever to use camels and horses, where no car can go."

"They'll stop for the night, I'll wager," said the DC. "If we get an early start, that train should prove to be just what we need. And I'll get onto the RAF commandant and get up some search planes. We'll soon have this scruffy lot in the bag, and the leaders will swing for what they've done. I'll charge them with murder for the two boys they killed here, and the other charges will just convince the jury that what we seek is proper."

"Does 'swing' mean what I think it does?" asked Finn, not perfectly fluent with the English of her present day.

"Means that the hangman will get the bastards," swore Musgrave. "And well he should, too, Mrs. Challenger. We haven't much kidnapping of white ladies out here, although African girls are taken to Arabic slave markets fairly often, probably. We simply don't know how often it happens, other than from reports the natives give. And sometimes, they're bought off to keep silent."

"We're missing a key element here," noted George Challenger. "Marguerite is the wife of an Earl and a member of the Privy Council. If she can be sold in Arabia or wherever these people are headed, it will be a slap in the face to the entire British Empire. And our image will suffer. As much as we love those women, we also have a patriotic duty to recover them for the sake of white prestige in all of our colonies!"

"He's right, you know," agreed Lady Musgrave. "If European women can be smuggled out of Kenya in this way, no woman here will feel safe. It will cause unrest throughout the colony. Isn't that right, Dear?" She turned to her husband, who nodded.

As they studied maps of the area, the DC pulled out some new aerial photos. It was apparent to all that the raiders had probably taken a route leading through a long ravine, which opened out onto plains that would extend most of the way to the coast without significant trouble for camels or horses. Going otherwise to the coast would involve natural obstacles that would slow their flight.

As they examined the maps, Challenger suddenly noticed something on one of the photos. An idea began forming in his mind. He looked at Finn and asked, "Darling, is there any tea left in the pot?"

"If there isn't, I'll make you some, Genius," she replied. She knew her husband well, and she was excited to see that look that meant that he was onto something!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Miles away, the slavers' caravan had stopped, and the men had begun building a thorn bush "boma" to enclose the camp for protection against lions in the night. The camels were unloaded, and tents erected.

The white girls were made to sit on a blanket with their legs extended in front of them. Then, Khalid had their ankles locked in larger versions of the Irish 8 handcuffs that they again wore on their wrists. (The ropes that had bound their hands to their desirable bellies had been in place only while they were aboard the camels.) These restraints held their ankles immobile, and a chain was run around each girl's leg and locked, to connect the three of them. They were given water, and some dates, which a black girl, her ankles fettered in chains, fed to them. Guards watched them carefully, and they could say little without being overheard.

Marguerite saw Juma coming and called him over. He made a face, but came.

"What do you want, white slut?" he demanded.

"I was just curious about something," she replied. "Do you believe in God, Juma? Are you Muslim?"

"No, I am Kikuyu. Our god is Ngai. He lives on Mt. Kenya. I have no need of your god or that one worshipped in Mecca. Why?"

She smiled sweetly and said, "I just thought that you might want to pray that the police get you before my husband and Mem'Sahib Finn do. If they find you first, your life expectancy is very limited. The safari boys who survived will have told my friends all about this little escapade by now, of course. And they will know of your role in it."

Juma started to make a terse, obscene reply. But something stuck in his mind, and he asked about it. "Why should I fear a woman, this Finn slut? Are not her husband, the professor, or Bwana Malone more dangerous?" Contempt dripped from his words.

"George Challenger and Ned Malone will insist on trying to stay within the law, if possible. They are honest, decent men with a respect for rules and for judges. My husband and Finn are less concerned with anything but getting us back, and with revenge. You, Khalid, Ahmed, and a few others here are basically walking dead men. If you ship us girls to Amarrah, Finn and John will stay here as long as need be to hunt you down and make you regret that you betrayed us. I have seen Finn kill men and two hours later, make a joke and ask when dinner will be ready. Remember the snake that she shot, to save your miserable hide? She will kill you as easily. She is a deadly shot, and she hunts with Bwana Roxton all the time. They will find you before long. I thought that you might want to pray for your sorry soul, while you still can. Wasn't it nice of me to warn you?" She gave Juma a cold look that said that she hoped that he died soon, and painfully. There was raw hatred in her grim green eyes.

Juma, like most criminals, blamed others for things that went wrong. "If I was not in your camp serving you, I would never have been near that snake. If this Finn comes, she will soon join you in going to serve the Sultan." He smirked. "And your precious husband will learn that fighting us is not like making a speech in Parliament. I will slay him on sight. By the way, I am amused to see that, as I had been told, the nipples of white women are indeed pink." He glowered at her and stalked off.

Soon, he saw Ahmed and reminded him of something. Ahmed grinned, nodded, and came over to the captive girls.

"Soon," he said, "we will have finished making camp. I have selected the place where I will whip Veronica. I am taking bets. Marguerite, you have felt a slave whip. It will not mark you for more than a few hours, for its purpose is to punish, not to damage your value. But it hurts, does it not?"

Marguerite blushed furiously, remembering from her youth just how the blade of such a whip felt. "Yes, Ahmed, it hurts. A lot. So?"

"So," he explained, "I am asking others whether they think that your friend Vee will scream at the first stroke, or if she will last until the third stroke. I have never known a girl to be able to hold her pain within her for more than four strokes. And when she screams, Veronica will scream more than she knew that she could, will she not? How many strokes do you think that you will last before you scream, Veronica? Ask Marguerite what it feels like to be whipped. I surmise that she remembers every occasion, stroke for stroke, after all this time. Am I right, Marguerite?" He saw the pain in her face and the loss of self esteem as Marguerite Roxton recalled things that she wished desperately to forget.

"You're right," Marguerite told Ahmed. "Veronica may last for five strokes, but then, she will scream. Any woman would. I screamed after the third stroke, and I kept on screaming until my first whipping was done, and then some. But you have forgotten where we are. You cannot whip Veronica tonight."

Ahmed looked at her curiously. "And, why not? I am thoroughly looking forward to it."

So she told him, including his cousin in her glance.

"Khalid," said Marguerite, "we are in a canyon of sorts. There are high walls here. Sound carries far in the stillness of an African night, and it will echo here. If Veronica screams, as she will certainly do, any people near us will hear it. Some natives are dangerous. They may attack, maybe even to take the girls and the ivory and sell them, themselves. Or, they may try to rescue any girls whom you hold from their tribes. And a scream may draw lions. In the Amazon, Indians sometimes sounded like a wounded animal to attract jaguar or puma, if they were hunting them."

Khalid thought. "I know that you are mainly trying to spare your friend a whipping, Marguerite. But there is sense in what you say."

Ahmed was angry. "Khalid! This girl is insolent. Her walk, the way that she looks at us! She seethes with hate and rebellion. She needs punishment. If she is not whipped, her attitude will spread to the Hardy girl. Let me deal with her. We are too strong for most native war parties to attack. And will lions really be a nuisance? Marguerite merely seeks to control you, to avoid discipline."

"Enough!" snapped Khalid. "Cousin, what you say is true, but Marguerite is right, to some degree. I do not want a rhino charging our fires in irritation. They do that. And lions may indeed come, and be attracted to the horses and the camels, maybe the slaves. Or even us! It can happen."

"You haven't got the guts to whip me!" blurted Veronica. "I'm not going to scream to entertain you, either." She glared her hostility.

"Vee, SHUT UP! What do you think you're doing?!" Marguerite was horrified. If this continued, Khalid would be forced to act.

The leader of the slavers looked hotly at Veronica. "I accept your challenge, Mrs. Malone. You will be given the opportunity to show that I cannot make you scream. But we will have a compromise. You will not feel the full slave whipping tonight. I will reserve your first session with that until we are on a ship well clear of shore. Then, only sea gulls and an occasional albatross will hear you."

"Tonight, you will receive fewer strokes. Just enough to let you know what to expect later, when we have more suitable conditions. But you will see that I do indeed have the courage to discipline you, and you will learn to fear the whip. After I am satisfied that you have learned a lesson, you will be gagged until you can control yourself. But I will hear you scream first. You have earned that, and you must learn obedience and submission."

He turned to Ahmed and Selim, one of his other chief henchmen. "Prepare her. You know what to do. All will be as planned, except that she will receive fewer strokes. And I want a heavy leather gag ready. She can scream into it for awhile once I have heard her voice enough."

He crouched near Marguerite as Veronica was unchained and taken to the tree which they had chosen for her fate.

"Marguerite, later tonight, talk some sense into this girl. Tell her what a full whipping is like, and tell Miss Hardy, too. I want them to dread it. But it will be stayed until we are at sea, if there is no more foolishness like this." Khalid looked meaningfully at Marguerite.

She nodded. "I obey, Master. I recall what it is to be a slave, and I will spare my sisters as much pain as I can by getting them to accept their situation as soon as possible." She whimpered. "I will feel each stroke that Veronica does, in my heart. It will remind me what this is like. I love her, as a sister. Please be as merciful as you can. I will dance for you later, if you go easy on her."

An idea occurred to her. "Khalid...Master, for I need to accustom myself to addressing you as such, Veronica herself is a superb dancer. I trained her! We dance for our own men. Make her dance for you. She will do penance for her attitude, and she will greatly please you and your men. Do this, instead of whipping her. Please. I beg it of you." She looked shyly down, knowing that this might cool his anger.

And she wanted Veronica to hold the men's' attention by dancing while she did something else...

"You will certainly dance for me, Marguerite, and I will delight in seeing if you can still move as provocatively now as you did when you were 20," said Khalid. "But we will reserve that for tomorrow, when you will dance to firelight, before me and my men. Tonight, we will see whether Veronica can dance as you say. She had better try to do her best.

"But now," he continued, "she will receive at least a few lashes, which she richly requires for her insults and rebellious attitude. She must feel the whip, to begin to realize that she has become a slave girl, and all that this involves. She is brave and strong, but she is female, and needs to learn this. Tonight's whipping will be brief, but will let her know what is to come from her next, longer session. I want her to dread that long before it takes place. Each of you will be whipped a minimum of three times before I deliver you to the Sultan. That will help you to have the right attitude before you come into his presence. You must know basic submission before then, although I have no doubt that your training will continue. But I will not furnish him with raw girls who still think they are free women." He turned to his attendants. "Proceed."

Veronica was ordered to spread her legs, and an ankle was tied to a heavy rock on each side of her. The distance of the rocks was adjusted slightly, to allow for her height and leg length. They wanted her spread widely, but not to a point where it became dangerous for her. She would need to retain her balance, too.

Her wrists were now unlocked from the cuffs which had held them behind her at about waist height, given the way that they were applied. Her hands were tied in front, wrists crossed, and then suspended above her, from a limb of a nearby tree. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, to better keep the long hair off her back. The ponytail was then bound into the top of her hair, to keep it there for a short time.

Ahmed showed her the whip, which he ordered her to kiss. Instead, she spat at him.

He wiped his face, looked coldly at her and said, "Female, you deserve this, and I will enjoy doing it. Remember what you just did as you feel my lash. Truly, I should have killed your husband."

Khalid had the other two white girls brought forward and made to kneel just beyond reach of the whip, so that Ahmed would have room to work without striking them. The African slaves were made to kneel in a wider circle beyond them and the men around Veronica. They were tethered to each other by neck ropes, and the girl at each end of the coffle also wore ankle irons. The black girls all had their wrists tied or cuffed behind them, as they had been since the caravan had begun its journey. Indeed, each of these African girls had been so bound since capture, with brief respites to exercise their limbs and to drink.

Ahmed looked back at Khalid. That worthy nodded. "Begin," he ordered.

Ahmed nodded and drew back the whip. Both Marguerite and Diana could be heard as they drew sharp breaths. Veronica closed her eyes and breathed deeply, also.

Whaaack! Veronica lurched in her bonds and exhaled sharply as the first blow landed, but she did not scream. By the third blow, she did scream, despite her iron resolve not to give her captors the satisfaction of hearing her do it. The fourth stroke came, and she screamed more than she knew that she could. By the sixth, she was screaming continuously, as fast as she could draw breath to do it.

Marguerite whimpered, recalling how this must feel to her friend. She was soon bending over, as best she could in her restraints, crying softly, rocking back and forth, as she heard each stroke of the whip and Veronica's screams in response.

Diana Hardy watched in disbelief, then in horror. She felt sorry for the defiant blonde under the whip, and it finally penetrated her consciousness that before too long, she would be the girl in Veronica's place! She began to realize what Khalid had meant when he said that he wanted her to learn to dread what was coming!

Veronica was now screaming at the top of her lungs, and Khalid ordered her gagged. Already, roars came from unseen lions, and other noises from other animals disturbed by the sound of the screaming human female. Khalid became concerned that Marguerite had known what she was talking about, and was not merely trying to spare her lovely blonde companion punishment. The rock walls on each side magnified the screams and caused them to echo for a long distance.

He looked around and saw that every slave girl, bar none, was terrified and that their eyes were wide in shock at what they saw. The whipping had served its purpose, and he wanted Veronica to recover in time to dance for him after dinner. He hoped that Marguerite had told the truth when she said that she had trained Veronica to dance. If so, she must be a wonder to behold! He was jealous of her husband, left for possibly dead, back at the safari camp.

He held up two fingers to Ahmed, behind Veronica, where she could not see the sign. She must not know when her punishment would end. It would magnify the effect of the two remaining lashes.

When these had been delivered, the gag was left in place as Veronica continued to scream into it. Even with her voice thus muffled, everyone could hear the pain, misery, and shock that it incorporated. She flexed back and forth as far as her bonds would allow, hoping that somehow, the pain would leave.

She was left in place for 20 minutes. As the other slaves were taken away, the African girls were chained to a heavy log for the night, save for two who were chosen to serve the men's' meals. Two others were chained just by the ankles, with long linked handcuffs to allow them to feed the other girls after they had eaten themselves. Then, they, too, would be chained with their sisters. The African girls were now handcuffed with their hands in front, told that they could remain this way overnight, if they gave no trouble. The chains securing them to the heavy log would preclude their escape. Their instructions came in three languages, for they were of differing tribes, and only four spoke good Swahili.

The two white girls had been allowed to sit as this happened, to ease the stress in their legs from kneeling. Now, Khalid had them moved to face Veronica and knelt before her.

He had Veronica's gag removed, and she was given water from a flask.

Khalid lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, which she quickly dropped, rather than meet his gaze. Good, he reflected. She was beginning to grasp her new status.

He spoke to her. "Veronica, have you begun to learn what the whip feels like? Do you wish further lashes this night?"

She shook her head violently, an expression of fright on her face.

"Have you been whipped sufficiently, for now?"

She nodded vigorously.

"Speak aloud," he commanded. "Have you been whipped enough, for tonight?"

"Yes," she stammered, looking in shame at her friends kneeling in front of her.

"Yes, what?" he prompted.

Instinctively, she knew the answer that he required. She forced herself to speak the words. "Yes...Master. I have been whipped enough, for tonight. I am sorry for my arrogance. Please let this end for now. I swear to dance my best for you, but I cannot do it if this continues for much more. " She finally lifted her gaze to his eyes and begged, "Please. Master..." She dropped her eyes again, humiliated by what she had been forced to say.

She sobbed, and blushed scarlet as she saw her two fellow slave girls looking at her.

Khalid nodded to the guards. "It is enough. Bathe her, and then let her down. Lock her wrists in the Irish 8 cuffs, but conventionally, with her wrists side-by-side. Also fasten Marguerite and Diana this way, and chain all three white girls' feet with regular fetters. Put them in that tent, the large one to the right of the supply tent. Leave Veronica's hair in a ponytail for now. I enjoy seeing her that way. And put her pretty little blue knickers back on her. I like those, too. Lock their ankle chains to rings in the heaviest iron ball that we have. Later, after we eat, Veronica will perform for us. If she fails to please, all three girls will be whipped as she was. Do you understand the responsibility that you have, Veronica?" He seized her ponytail and lifted her head by her hair.

"Yes...Master. I will be a delight to you." She unconsciously phrased her words as she thought that Marguerite might. She had known her brunette companion for eight years, and she sensed what those words would be, after recalling some situations that they had already been in, and survived. But this, she had never experienced, even when in the hands of the imperious lizard man, Tribune, where she had indeed been a defiant girl. In fact, she had then gotten away with tantrums that no thinking person would expect a slave girl to have and remain undisciplined! Now, she knew this captivity would be different from any before. She shuddered as a Turkana slave girl began to gently bathe her with warm water from a large brass bowl.

Their ankles freed, Marguerite and Diana were stood up, and Marguerite's wrists were freed of the cuffs that had held her arms parallel, at about waist height. She was allowed to exercise her arms for a brief time, to restore full circulation, before her hands were drawn behind her again for conventional cuffing.

She called out to the departing Khalid. "Master! May we please wear our cuffs with our hands in front, as the African girls do?"

Khalid paused, thinking. "It will depend on how well Veronica dances and otherwise entertains me later. I will also intimately examine Diana, before I have Veronica brought to me. For now, you will have your hands in back. I really do not trust you. And there is another reason why I prefer you with your hands behind you."

"What is that, Master?" Diana's voice quivered as she asked. She was ashamed to realize that she had just called this vile Arab, "Master". But it had sprung from her lips before she could think. Seeing the whipping had had the desired effect upon her, apparently. At any rate, she felt the need to humor this vile man who controlled their fates.

Khalid walked over, lifted her head, and looked into her frightened blue eyes. "You girls are simply sexier when bound that way, Miss Hardy. And it induces additional feelings of helplessness in you, which is communicated in your bearing, your body language. It is pleasant to behold."

He motioned to a guard. "Also tie these other two girls' hair in ponytails. I like seeing them that way tonight. Use a yellow ribbon on Miss Hardy's hair, and a red one on Lady Roxton. Take the leather lace from Veronica's hair, and tie it instead with a pink ribbon."

He walked off, and the three white girls looked at one another. A glance of despair passed between them, and Veronica cast her eyes down again. She had never felt so ashamed before in her life. If Ned is alive, she wished, I hope that he never sees me this way. I think I know most of what I am going to have to do in that Arab bastard's tent tonight. And I will do it, as well as I can, to buy us girls what mercy it may. But I will feel so unworthy of my own husband afterwards. I wonder if I can ever be the same to him again, if we are ever rescued. If Ned is even still alive, that is...

She was allowed to don her panties, then her arms were taken behind her, and she felt the cuffs being snapped shut on her wrists. The sound of the key setting the lock was the most dismal sound that she could imagine, after the screams that she had uttered that afternoon.

In the near distance, a lion roared. It sounded nearby, and as if it wanted to prove something. Veronica shuddered as she spread her feet for the chains to be applied to her ankles.

Then, a ridiculous thought came to her. She laughed, and looked directly into Marguerite's eyes.

"Can this day possibly get any better?" she asked.

Marguerite was stunned, and then both former Treehouse girls began laughing.

Diana Hardy watched them as her ankles were fettered, afraid that they had gone mad from what had happened. She felt more fear than ever before in her life. What on earth had these two friends found to laugh at, in these grim circumstances?! Not knowing Marguerite well, she had no idea that Veronica was reciting one of her brunette friend's favorite complaints!

The girls were put in the tent, and all went well for over an hour as they were fed. A girl came and bathed Marguerite and Diana, for which they were grateful.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Left alone except for a guard occasionally looking in, they talked, getting better acquainted. They found considerable compatibility, and Diana thrilled to hear a few of their jungle tales from South America. She invited them to visit her and her father and to hunt on their huge farm, if they ever escaped Khalid's clutches.

Finally, Diana could suppress her fear and curiosity about something no longer. "Look, ladies," she ventured, "may a brash colonial girl ask you two a rather intimate question?"

"Ask away. I'll deny everything," Marguerite quipped. Veronica laughed. It felt wonderful to do that.

Diana blushed." Pardon my rudeness, but I'm still a virgin, a condition that I suppose won't last much longer, given why we were taken. You're both married. Does it hurt much the first time and do you think they'll make me do that tonight?

"Probably not," said Marguerite. "For one thing, they'll get more for you as a virgin. And I heard one of them complaining that they had orders not to use us. Orders from the Sultan. Doesn't want his toys being played with by other boys, I expect. Otherwise, we'd certainly all be enjoyed by at least several of them, partly to break us in for our delightful future as slave girls. That certainly was the case with my friend Antoinette and me when I was being taken to Arabia. Our training began on the ship. Neither of us was a virgin, so that wasn't an issue. The slaver's men had their way with both of us, made us do anything and everything that they wanted. And there isn't much that a girl can do with a man that they didn't want." Marguerite flushed with the shame of that memory.

"But Diana, they can do most things to us other than the ultimate, if you take my meaning, and they are expected to handle us and have us please them, otherwise. I want you to be brave when they handle you very intimately. They'll do that, and the more it distresses you the more they'll do it to ridicule and torment you. There are good men in this world and there are bad. These are the latter, as you surely realize. Just ride it out and we'll try to escape somehow. But I doubt that you'll lose your virginity until the Sultan decides to end that status, himself. In the meantime, maybe we'll be rescued. And how much it hurts at first varies with the girl and the circumstances, but it isn't too bad if you try to relax. Chances are, the Sultan will take your status into consideration and be careful. After all, you'll be valuable property that he doesn't want to damage."

Diana shuddered. "Once they do that and other things to me, Stuart will probably reject me even if we ever are rescued. No decent white man will have me." She sniffled.

"Give him a little time," said Marguerite. "He'll maybe think about it. But unless he's one of those men who have a big problem with the Madonna-whore syndrome, he'll accept you. He's a fine man, and this isn't your fault. He loves you! If he doesn't forgive you, he's probably kind of a prude. In that case, marry Geoff Blacklaws. He seems a fun bloke, and he has eyes for you. Not that he'd intrude on his friend Stuart's territory." Marguerite was smugly confident about how Blacklaws had looked at Diana.

"Geoff? Eyes for me?" Diana was baffled.

"Oh, yes: he gives you the old visual going over," added Veronica. "But he's a man and you are very good looking. If I was a guy, I'd stare at you, too. You'll bring a good price on the block, if the Sultan doesn't keep you. But he probably will. You'd be a real prize for his harem. Right, Marguerite?"

"Definitely," agreed Lady Roxton. "Vee, don't you dare sell for more than I do. I couldn't bear having a blonde do that to me a second time." She smiled ruefully, knowing that she would probably never be sold again. What the Sultan had in mind for her was probably going to be painfully fatal. Her only hope might be to plead with him to let her train his girls. And if he occasionally displayed her nude to Arab guests as a captured English noblewoman, that might save her for a time. He would surely take immense pleasure in that...

Too soon, guards came and unlocked Diana's chains from the heavy iron ball on the floor of the tent. She was made to kneel, while one lifted her hair and locked a metal collar on her throat. He rotated the small lock until it was behind her neck, where her hair hid it. The front of the collar had a ring for attaching a chain or a leather leash. He leashed her, and she was led away, looking back piteously at her friends.

The other girls then knelt and received their own collars. "Is that this season's fashion accessory?" inquired Marguerite. "I'd hate to think that Khalid is cutting corners and making us girls wear last season's styles."

The guard looked confused, but Ahmed stepped in and laughed. "You do have an English sense of humor, Lady Roxton," he conceded. "Try to stay cheerful. Mrs. Malone, may I say what a delight it was to whip you today? I can hardly wait until the next occasion. You will soon cringe at the very sight of the lash!" He leered and fondled the kneeling Veronica.

To his surprise, she didn't flinch or object. "If Master is pleased, I am thrilled, I'm sure. Look, Ahmed, I am going to be no trouble at all. Play with whatever I have, whenever you like. But go as easy on that whip from now on as you can. Okay?"

He glared at her. "I will discipline you as I should." He softened. "Veronica, it is best that you be broken well and thoroughly. It will serve you better, later. You are now a slave, and you must react as one. Don't bargain with me. I have all the power. You will take what punishment I decide. Girls must learn to say, 'yes, master', not to manipulate men. Understand? Marguerite, you nearly got whipped today for offering to dance to appease Khalid. You must please him, anyway, so you have nothing with which to bargain. Just be pleasing girls, and let that bargain for any mercy that you may receive. Of course, you may wish to play up to someone, hopefully me. If you press against me, and use your eyes well to offer yourselves to me and beg my favor, that may help you. But that is all that you can hope for. Understand?"

Both women lowered their eyes and said as one, "Yes, Master."

Marguerite asked him to convey her apology to Khalid for trying to bargain her dance for mercy towards Veronica. "I feared for my friend. I am sorry if I have offended my owner. Ahmed... Master.., I once spent over a week in a Room of Correction in Amarrah. I wish never to have to go there again. My memory is long. I will be a compliant slave." She looked down again and shuddered at the recollection of what had been done to her before she surrendered fully to the former Sultan's wishes.

"It is good, Marguerite. I will convey your apology to my cousin. He actually likes you. I think that if he was not contracted to sell you to the present Sultan, he might keep you."

He turned to Veronica. "Veronica, soon Diana will be returned here. She is only going to be examined and handled, to get her accustomed to it. She will get more, of course. But if she is obedient, she will soon be back here. Then, you must dance. Can you truly perform well?"

"Yes, Master. Marguerite taught me well, and she and I and our friend Mrs. Challenger all competed subtly to be the best dancer among us three. We danced for all of our husbands on festive nights in the Amazon. You will find me to be good, and I will get better. I want to feel that lash as seldom as possible. For what it's worth, you do know how to whip a girl." She shivered.

He played with her hair, and fondled her again as he left. "Do your best then, blonde slave. Oh: when the three of you women danced, who was best?"

Veronica looked at her friend. "Marguerite was. I wanted to be better, but I never will be. Mrs. Challenger and I were both about as good as each other, but we moved a little differently. But Finn and I always resented you, Marguerite. We knew that we'd never excite men as well as you can. Not by dancing, anyway."

Marguerite laughed sadly. "That doesn't stop Finny from trying. As long as it doesn't embarrass George, she vamps men and looks to see if they notice. She's definitely an exhibitionist. I think it helps her self esteem to know that they feel compelled to stare, if politely. Those shorts that she wears here are longer than the ones she had on the Plateau, but they're still at the limit for today, and she wears them tighter than most women dare. Ahmed, you missed the boat when you didn't catch her. She'd sell for a pretty price, if she didn't kill whoever was trying to enslave her."

"I bid you ladies farewell for the moment. I want to go and see Diana's shock at what is being done to her." He smirked and left.

Both slaves sank down again and looked at one another. "Vee, I want you to know that whatever happens to us, I consider knowing you to have been one of the most fulfilling experiences of my entire life," said Marguerite. "I love you, and I always will. You have been the truest friend that I could ever have, other than John, of course."

Veronica smiled, leaned over, and kissed Marguerite's shoulder. "Likewise, Limey. Don't despair. We'll get through this somehow yet. By the way, I wanted them to whip me. I wanted our friends to hear me scream. But they're too far back, aren't they?"

"Yes, Vee. Much too far back. Their cars can't come the way these bastards have taken us. But they'll find us, I hope. I know they're trying. I feel almost as sorry for poor John right now as I do for us. He must be suffering absolute torment. George and Finny and Ned, too, if poor Ned is conscious. They may have had to take him to a hospital before they came after us. But they will come. I just hope that we aren't chained in the hold of an Arab dhow before they locate us. Oh: was the whipping worse than what you expected, when you decided to make that sacrifice?"

Veronica flushed. "Yes. Far worse. I've never dreamed of that much pain. Look at my back and legs. Are the marks still there?" She rolled to let Marguerite examine her backside.

"Only some. They gave you a short dose. I've never seen it last for more than a day, if that. That whip is expertly wielded, and it's meant to cause pain, not to mark you. But the marks that it doesn't leave in your flesh are left in your soul. By the time that we reach Amarrah, the very sight of that whip will make us whimper and beg. I fully intend to grovel and plead if it makes them happy. You'd better do that, too. The good news is, I think I have a plan. But I need to get it better formed in my mind before I act. Wish me luck. If it works, we may just avoid meeting the Sultan yet!"

"I sure hope so," agreed Mrs. Malone. "That's one pleasure that I'd be happy to forego."

They heard a crying girl coming their way. "I expect that'll be poor Diana, Vee. Keep them busy for as long as you can, no matter what it takes. I think I'm on the verge of deciding what to do. If I act, it will be while you distract them. Fortunately, you're tremendously well equipped to distract men!"

"Why, Lady Roxton!" exclaimed Mrs. Malone. "What a lovely and kind thing to say!" She laughed.

Then, the tent flap was pulled aside, and a weeping Diana Hardy was thrust within.

Diana looked quickly at the other women, blushed, and tried to compose herself, with limited success. She looked much as she had before leaving the tent, save that her wrists were now not only in handcuffs behind her back. There was a slim chain around her waist, and her cuffs were fastened to this by a small lock. But her demeanor was less confident. She was certainly no longer the proud mistress of the colonial manor that she had been when they first met. It was clear that she was becoming used to the idea that she might well wear chains in the harem of an Arab master for years to come. What had probably just happened to her was enough to keep many white men from considering marrying her. She had been naked in the hands of non-whites, and certain things would be presumed to have happened to her, even if some hadn't...yet. Marguerite noted that the handcuffs were now the sort used by American police, but with just one link between the bracelets.

She was held at the door of the tent while Veronica was made to stand while her leg irons were released from the heavy iron ball. Then, Veronica was led out, leashed. She looked back and mouthed a kiss to Marguerite, who returned the gesture.

Diana was brought forward and knelt beside Marguerite. Her leg irons were locked to the ball, which must have weighed at least 35 pounds.

A guard played with her hair and made a crude demand. Diana blushed, took his outstretched thumb in her mouth, and artfully addressed it as if it had been another item of his anatomy. She hoped the thumb was clean.

The guard, whose name was Ali, laughed and fondled her before he went outside with the other man who had been assigned to watch them.

Diana turned to Marguerite. "You were right, Lady Roxton. They made me do things that I dreaded. I am so ashamed! Poor Stuart will be quite justified to leave me. And I was handled very thoroughly. They examined everything that I've got, and let me know just what they thought of me. Thankfully, their remarks were mainly praise, if insulting. If my father was here, he'd thrash them for what they said to me, let alone for what they did. Oh, my gosh! What if my own father will not bear my presence, after what they have done?" she looked horrified and began to cry again.

"Diana, shut up. Your father deserves more of your faith than that. He seems a fine man, and he clearly loves you. I've seen the fondness in his gaze and the way that he hugs you. He thinks you're the flower of British womanhood, and I daresay that Stuart Hamilton is also made of better stuff than you're giving him credit for. And call me Marguerite. I don't exactly come across too well as Lady Roxton at the moment. I'm just Marguerite, slave girl. No better than you. What they did to you, they will do to me, and they will do it to Veronica tonight, too, and for days to come. You need feel no shame in my presence. I only hope that you can feel friendship, and trust."

"But Marguerite, they...did things... to me. Horrible things. Their dirty hands have been all over me. They touched me where even Stuart has not been allowed to go, yet. Now, he won't care to! I have become a slut! What is to become of us?!"

"It takes more than that to become a slut, Diana. Trust me: I should know. I've been well acquainted with some women who would qualify for that name. I may have been one of them, at one time. Maybe borderline, except when the Sultan held me before. I guarantee you that I was a slut then. And I tried to be the best slut in his stable of girls. It made my life far more bearable than it would have been otherwise."

"But you are now married to Lord Roxton. Does he know of this? Why would he marry you, if he does? He is a gentleman, a peer of the Realm!"

Marguerite laughed. "Diana, he does know. I confessed my sordid past to Veronica and Finn one night, as we prepared to dance for our men. (See, "A Prisoner of the Sultan, or How Marguerite Learned to Dance" in the Mature- Rated TLW Fiction on this board.) I swore them to silence, but they urged me to tell Lord Roxton, with whom I was already sleeping by that time. I'll thank you to keep that to yourself. Everyone already assumes the worst, but I'd just as soon not have it confirmed by a girl who knows me well."

"And?" prompted Diana. "How did he react when you told him?"

"He was the most wonderful lover in the world. He kissed away my tears and held me in his arms, and told me that all that mattered was that I had told hm. He said that it bothered him far more not to know my secret than it troubled him to be aware of what had happened to me. His only comment about what I had done was to tell me that it meant that I must be a total love slut, and that he expected no less than I had given the Sultan. And he wanted it often."

She laughed. "I should have known John well enough by then to have had more faith in him. But I felt as you do now, and I had done far worse, for over a year. And I was not even a virgin when I was captured in France. There had been two men before, and too many since. I was married several times, and my wealth was largely the result of husbands dying. I was suspected of killing them, but I didn't, really. They were just older men whose hearts perhaps found my talents to be too much of a strain. One was a German general, who was killed in the war. An Australian sniper killed him just four days after he went to the front.

"I was Baroness Krux before I became Lady Roxton. And I'll tell you this: I love having a title. I'm quite frankly a snob. But Lord Roxton saw through me from the start, when we went to Brazil on Challenger's little expedition. He told me that I was no more a lady than he was a gentleman. But, Diana, he was wrong. The Earl of Avebury is far more of a gentleman than I have been a lady. The greatest honor that I have had or dreamed of having was when he asked me to be his wife. He actually asked 14 times, though, before I accepted. I had too much baggage, and I felt so unworthy of him! I just knew that he'd abandon me if he knew the truth about me. But when he learned, he still asked me if I would do him the honor of becoming Lady Roxton.

"I tried to be dignified and a little aloof when I accepted, but I broke down crying and sobbed out, yes, yes, a thousand TIMES, YES! I would marry him, if he was fool enough to have me. He was, and I have tried to be the best wife that he could have.

"Diana, Finn once told me, half seriously, that if it was what George Challenger insisted on, she would kneel at his feet and beg for his collar rather than be a queen anywhere else. She was grossly exaggerating for effect, of course, but maybe not by as much as she pretends. You've seen the way that the Challengers interact? That is the purest love that I have ever seen.

"If Roxton saves us, what I really want is the wedding rings that Khalid took when he stripped us. Those are all the collar that John Roxton needs to make me his own. I am his wife before I am anything else, and I think that you should give Stuart Hamilton the benefit of the doubt. He may not be the man that John Roxton is -damned few are- but let him decide just how soiled you are. He may surprise you, even if it means having to bear the scorn and ridicule that less enlightened people will certainly cast your way. And if he does tell you that you are soiled goods, give Geoff a chance at you. I think he may be a more tolerant, easygoing man. And he does look at you as something that he'd chase, if Stuart wasn't his good friend."

Diana looked with increasing awe at Marguerite. "I can't believe that you'd tell me this, Marguerite. Thank you for your trust. But are you saying that Lord Roxton still thinks that you are a lady after all that he knows?"

"Not truly. He knows me for what I am, good and bad. And there is some good that he's found in me, and he's brought out more good than I knew that I had in me. But if he does not think of me as the typical English image of genteel ladyhood, he certainly thinks of me as HIS lady. And that is all that I wish, all that I could dare to hope for. My children are his, and my heart is his. And if I can manage to achieve it, I am going to be back in his arms, in his bed, as fast as I can do it. If I can, I'll try to take you back to Stuart, too, and let him decide whether you are still worthy of him. If not, there are other fish in the sea."

"I don't want some other fish. I want Stuart." She sobbed again, knowing that this might not be possible.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Veronica was led into Khalid's tent, where she found all of his senior men awaiting her, expectant grins on their faces. They know what to expect of a woman who has been whipped, she thought. Am I that low? Yes, for I know what it is to fear the whip, and Marguerite is depending on me to keep them busy. Goodness knows what she'll do, but I'll try to buy her the time to do it.

Without being bidden, she stepped over to Khalid and dropped to her knees on the Oriental carpet. "I beg to serve Master's pleasure, however he wishes. Please be gentle with a slave and with her friends." She bent lower, putting her forehead to his feet. I feel so repulsed by this, she thought, but it's what this bastard wants. And if I have learned anything about men, it is that I can appeal to their damned vanity...

Smiling broadly, Khalid had her rise and turn slowly, displaying her to his fellows. He had her chains removed, including the Irish 8 handcuffs.

With her hands on her head, she walked around the tent as instructed, letting each man feel her as she lingered briefly for his touch. Then, she returned to Khalid and did a nasty bump and grind, working her loins for all that she could. She had never done this so lewdly before, even when she was trying to upstage Finn and Marguerite before their own men. The disgusting thing was, she felt a sordid thrill as she saw Khalid's response. I'm certainly going to be a hit here, tonight, she thought. Oh, well: Marguerite wants time. I'll give it to her as best- worse- as I can. It even makes me feel desirable, she marveled. This slave stuff sure brings out my inner slut...

"Your hands are free, Veronica," pointed out her master. "Remove your knickers. What you American girls call panties. I must say, I am impressed by those brief ones that you and your friends have made for you."

She stepped from them, using her thumbs to peel the feminine material gracefully down her long, shapely legs before stepping out of them. "I'm Anglo-Brazilian, but becoming American, so I call them panties. My friends Finn and Marguerite design them, after some that Finn knew where she came from. I am honored if you like them."

"Oh, I like them, especially as you remove them," quipped Khalid, to general laughter. "You and Marguerite can look forward to modeling them in future days. You will each lend them to Diana, too, for her knickers were too large, not worth saving. I burned them before her tonight, that she might realize that even her most intimate garment will no longer be hers. Come here. I want to feel you before you are allowed to dance. Keep in mind that if you are disobedient, you and both other girls will regret it."

"I swear obedience, Master. I know that I will feel the whip at least three more times before I am sold in Amarrah. But I wish to feel it for only three times. And I love Marguerite as if she was family. I will bring no unneeded pain upon her, or upon that poor girl, Diana."

Khalid smirked. "Speaking of Diana, she was made to do certain things in here that shocked her virginal mind. You have been married for several years, and are a bolder girl, anyway, I think. I expect better from you."

"I will try to do better, Master. If I fail, make me begin anew. I want you to be fully satisfied with me otherwise, before I even begin to dance for you and your guests. I will at all times strive to be graceful and pleasing in whatever you command of me. I do not wish to embarrass you by being a clumsy slave." She lowered her eyes humbly after flashing them admiringly at Khalid. She found herself blushing, half in shame and half in nubile female acknowledgement of the hungry look that he gave her. It did make her feel gratified as a woman. But it also made her feel like a tramp! Veronica was glad that Marguerite had shared details of her former enslavement with her. It helped her to say the things that she had, having once shivered as her friend had told her phrases that she had been taught to utter, and the way to say things as a trained bond girl would. Veronica suppressed her natural rage, knowing that she must please Khalid and buy as much time for Marguerite as she possibly could. This man would tolerate no defiance from her, but might be inclined to treat her less harshly if she showed submission. She decided to intrigue him rather than contest wills. She would try to draw out the time she spent here, talking, flirting, as well as dancing or whatever else they demanded of her. With luck, she could occupy their captors' attention for an hour or so, hopefully enough time for Marguerite to act. Mentally, she wanted nothing more than a private scene with Khalid and her knife! She forced herself to to think instead of how she might prove so sensual that she could prolong her time in entertaining these villains without losing any more dignity than was neccesary.

In the slave tent, Marguerite waited. It seemed forever before she heard the beat of Arab tribal drums, and knew that her friend was moving her body enchantingly before men. But until she heard those familiar drums, to the music of which she had herself often danced, she had no way of knowing what was happening to Vee. Beyond the walls of the tent, she saw men drifting over to Khalid's quarters, to see her blonde companion dance. Good. That meant fewer here, to see or hear her and Diana.

But should she tell the Hardy girl what she had in mind? No, she was too naive. She would unconsciously telegraph the expectation of something to the guards. Diana was sweet, but young, and not as sneaky as she herself was. Marguerite had a very good idea of what Veronica was enduring to buy her time. She would not risk a failure that might cause them all to suffer. Damn it, Roxton, she mused, where the hell are you when I need you?!

"Guard?" she called, hesitantly, "Ali? Master, please come here. I need to pee!"

Ali stuck his head in the tent. "Female slave, what is this? Can you not hold your urine until your friend has to be chained next to you?"

"No," explained Marguerite. "We women are weaker than men, and we have less capacity. My need is upon me." She spoke in Arabic, for Ali's English was very limited. "Master, if you will lead me out to do what I must, the tent will not be soiled. And you can, of course, fondle me as you will. My spirit was broken this afternoon, when Veronica was whipped. I remembered all of my own whippings, and all that I now aspire to is to be the perfect slave. I will be no trouble at all, and I will happily perform whatever intimate services that you demand of me."

She used her large, expressive green eyes to enchant him, making lust rise in him, despite his initial irritation. She managed to look much in need of his mercy, and he reflected on how Khalid would feel if this infidel slut soiled the tent. He, too, would have to smell the mess when he entered to remove girls.

He consented and unchained her legs from the iron ball. . She convinced him to unchain her ankles, too, so that she could don her boots. "We Western women lead pampered lives, especially those of us in the nobility. My feet cannot walk on this ground. There are rocks and thorns, and Khalid will become angry if I cut my foot and it becomes infected."

He knew this to be true, and shrugged, putting on her boots. All of her other clothing had been left in the safari camp, save for her lacy white panties. She knew better than to ask for these, although they were in the tent.

Ali helped her to rise after the boots were on, and the other guard held the tent flap as a leashed Marguerite was taken out.

"I have to go when she gets back," called Diana, to the guards' disgust. This was not a side of women that they relished dealing with.

"Just take a bush out of the wall, and Diana and I can go on the other side, just far enough out that the smell isn't noticed. Khalid need never know, if that is a factor."

Ali wasn't sure what Khalid wanted, and he wasn't about to interrupt him as the blonde wench danced. He resented being told to stay with the remaining girls, but Khalid had promised that he and Selim, the other guard, would see all three girls perform by firelight the next night. They would unpack cymbals and give Marguerite finger bells to enhance her performance.

He pulled aside a large thorn bush in the boma, and led Marguerite through

He took her some 50 feet on the other side of the fence and told her to get on with it. He was torn between watching to shame her, and being repulsed by it.

"I need my cuffs off for a few moments, and I'd appreciate it if you'd turn your back. I am English, and I am a shy slave."

"Pee with the cuffs on," he snapped.

"But, Ali, Master, I am a woman. We do things differently. At least, cuff my wrists in front. But it is best if my hands are free."

Ali decided that this was more than he wanted to see, or know about. His culture taught that women are basically unclean, anyway, best used for sex, cleaning and rearing children.

He shook his head in disgust, but had her turn and removed the Irish 8 cuffs.

Marguerite thanked him and he leashed her to the low limb of a nearby tree before walking off for a little distance. He snapped the cuff unit open and closed in his impatience.

Marguerite did what she had said that she would, and called out that she was finished. She walked over toward Ali, and then stopped; crying out that she either had a thorn in her boot or had been stung by a scorpion.

She knew that Ali had a flashlight, and asked him to let her take the boot off while he looked into it.

"This hurts. I'm afraid that it was a scorpion. We forgot to check my boots."

He gestured for her to sit on a large rock and told her to put her hands on her head. He took out the flashlight and pulled off her right boot.

As he leaned forward, Marguerite sprang up and kneed him in the jaw, then in the groin. He sprang back, in pain, and she followed up by striking him just below the back edge of his jaw with her elbow, driving hard into his neck.

He dropped, and she was immediately onto the knife sheathed in his belt. She knew the type well, an Arab jambiya. As he struggled for consciousness, she deftly cut his throat, and stabbed into the large artery running through the top of his shoulder. Both Veronica and Finn had told her that this big artery, if severed, would cause immediate loss of consciousness and rapid death. Once it was cut, there was probably no hope of saving the victim. Challenger had confirmed this, and told her that it was an unladylike question, but knowledge that she might find useful. She had just found it to be useful, indeed!

Although horrified by what she had done, Marguerite was desperate. If she reached Amarrah, there was an excellent chance that she would be tortured to death.

She took the dead Arab's gun belt, and wiped the jambiya blade on his robe before sheathing it. She might well have need of a knife as she struggled to survive in this wilderness.

She knew that she should flee at once, but the concern that she felt for poor Diana nagged at her. Besides, she hadn't liked the way that Selim had looked at the girls, and he had helped Ahmed to whip Veronica. He was the one who had tied her legs open, leering at her in the process, and then fondling her shaved public region. Marguerite wanted to kill him for that.

Torn by the conflict between fleeing and helping Miss Hardy, Marguerite realized that she needed the water bottles in the tent. And it would be nice to put on her panties and grab a couple of blankets. And Diana would be much valued female companionship as they fled...

Examining the gun, she saw that was a Webley MK VI .455 service revolver. The open-top holster was the Other Ranks (non - Officer) sort issued to senior NCO's, Military Police, trumpeters, and other enlisted men in the British Army who were allowed to carry a revolver. It had quite probably been stolen from Crown Stores (supply depot) or captured in the late war. Good. Back now in proper British hands!

The ammunition was a mix of regular MK II round-nosed lead bullets and flat- nosed MK. IV Manstopper bullets. It was loaded with the latter. She remembered now that it was Ali who had shot the African "boy" in camp as he tried to help against the slavers. No wonder that he had dropped so quickly, for this flat- pointed bullet transmitted its energy well, and it had the mass to penetrate deeply at close range. It had been designed to stop fanatical Afghan tribesmen before they could reach a British soldier with their long Khyber knives or swords. There were the expected six cartridges in the revolver's cylinder, and another 24 in loops in the belt. Not much ammunition if she got into a protracted fight, but she could not allow that to happen, anyway. They would be too outnumbered.

She stashed the gun belt near Ali's body and held her hands behind her, as if Ali had fastened them with the wrists parallel again, with the cuff unit being applied vertically. This gave her a little better chance of hiding the gun behind her slim, attractive body.

Selim called out, wanting to know what was keeping them. "We're coming!" she replied and walked through the gap in the fence.

Selim stood by the tent, looking unhappy at the delay.

"Master, I'm sorry: I really needed to go. I had been holding it for hours. And I thought I'd been stung by a scorpion. But Ali's flashlight showed that it was only a thorn. I am sorry to be so long. Ali says that after Diana has peed; we girls must do whatever you men wish of us for having inconvenienced you. I would be pleased to pleasure you as you choose, and I will coach Diana, who is a virgin. Please forgive us this trouble?" She looked anxiously at him, eager to be forgiven any anger that she had caused.

He looked sharply at her. "Where is Ali? And why are your hands cuffed up higher on your back? "

"Master Selim, Ali is relieving himself. He said that he might as well, given the circumstances. After you chain me, he said to send out Diana. And my hands are this way because he wants them thus, while I kneel before him in a moment and take his member in my mouth. He says that cuffing me like this makes me look better as I do that." She managed to blush convincingly. "You had better chain my feet and send Diana along. She has to go pretty badly. We girls were talking about it."

Selim glowered, but jerked a thumb toward the tent. Marguerite bowed her head submissively, nodded, and moved toward him. She saw a man pass in the distance, but he was intent on reaching the tent where the drums still beat, to see the naked blonde slave dance. He did not look their way.

Just as they entered the tent, Marguerite brought out the Webley and stuck it into Selim's gut. "You slimy Arab bastard, get those chains off of Miss Hardy's feet or I'll kill you where you stand!"

Selim was astonished, but grabbed for the gun, and there was a struggle. Diana had enough slack in her leg irons and the chain from them to the heavy iron ball that she was able to trip Selim, and Marguerite hit him on the head with her gun. She did this three times before he fell, dazed. At once, she had his knife out and into his subclavian artery, rolling him so that the spurt of blood wouldn't reach Diana.

Diana was aghast. "Oh, Marguerite! You are so brave! Where is Ali? How did you get his gun? What about Veronica? Is Selim dead?" These questions were fired as rapidly as bullets from a Vickers machine gun, and were precisely what Marguerite had expected her to ask.

She was frantically searching Selim's body for keys. "Diana, shut up, and tell me where this vile creature put his keys. We need to get out of here really fast. I'll tell you everything when we get past the hole in the fence. Before someone sees it, hopefully." She was unable to replace the bush in the fence, for she had needed to seem handcuffed, and Diana was still expected to go out that way. Marguerite paused only to cut the leather leash from her collar. She flung iit aside in disgust and relief.

"Aha!" Marguerite had found the keys and she hastily unlocked Diana's leg irons. There was no need to bother with the connecting chain to the iron ball. "Get up, and let me have your hands, fast!"

But none of the keys fit Diana's handcuffs, which were not the rigid Irish 8 type that had been used on the girls. They looked like normal American style police cuffs, except that there was only one chain link between the bracelets, instead of the usual two or three. And the link was fastened to her chain belt by a small but tough lock!

"Oh," remembered Diana. "Khalid cuffed me. He probably has the only keys! What shall we do?"

Marguerite didn't panic. "I'll help you get your boots on. I want my pretty little knickers, and a couple of blankets, and the water bottles. Then, we are leaving this place as fast as we can. We have to get lost in the night before someone comes! I'll think of something to do about your hands later. Or, the police can unlock those things."

"You want me to meet the police naked, with my hands locked behind me? My reputation will be absolutely destroyed! What if Stuart sees me this way?!"

"That, Diana, is a trifling consideration just now," answered her companion, frantically pulling on the other girl's boots. "Anyway, it has been my experience that men find the sight of a handcuffed nude woman very arousing. The coppers and Stuart will probably admire you that way." A thought came to her, but she saved it for later. Still, she smiled at it. Diana just thought that Marguerite found it funny how men would react to her condition. But it was something else, as she would eventually learn. Marguerite thought she knew who just might have a handcuff key...

Getting Selim's gun belt, and the other items, they ran for the fence, after checking to see that no one was watching. Marguerite made Diana carry the water bottles by their straps, and she took the other things. There were no rifles in the tent, and Marguerite cursed mentally at the lack. Rifles would not only arm them better against the slavers; they would protect the girls from wild animals and allow shooting an antelope for food after they'd evaded the foe.

"What about Veronica?" Diana was frightened for their friend, who would probably be punished for their escape.

"Can't help her now, and I've gone half mad trying to think of a way. There are just too many of them to try to take her by force. We'll have to send help. But I know which way camp was and my friends will be coming after us."

She pushed Diana through the gap in the fence, used the bush to brush out their footprints from the tent, and put the bush back into the fence. "Come on, Diana! We need to disappear, fast!"

Recovering the other dead slaver's gun belt and knife, Marguerite cut a small thorn bush and led Diana into the night, away from the camp.

She used the bush to erase their trail as well as she could. A skilled tracker would find it in daylight, but that was hours off, and if they got away for now, they might find rocky ground where a trail would be lost. And Khalid and his minions could spare only so much time to look for them. He must know that a pursuit would be organized by now.

After some fifteen additional minutes, Khalid signaled to Veronica to cease dancing and to come to him. When she did, he handed her a wet cloth and told her to wipe herself down. When she had, he fastened her wrists behind her again in cuffs like Diana's. They were applied the normal way, except that he made her turn her wrists back-to-back so that she was more tightly confined in the bracelets than if her hands were held with the insides of the wrists facing. Then, her leg irons were locked to her ankles and he had her kneel in front of him.

She dreaded where this was leading, but he asked no sexual services of her. Instead, Khalid looked to each side of him, and his men there grinned back. Obviously, they had planned the next step.

"Veronica, you will choose the next girl to dance for us. Tomorrow, ll three of you will perform by firelight, and we will give Marguerite finger bells and we will play cymbals and flutes as well as drums. You will each be very beautiful. But tell me truly, can Diana move well enough, or do Marguerite or you need to train her before she performs? If she is too gawky, she will be punished. Speak!"

"Master, please let both Marguerite and I teach her before she dances for record. You can all watch us show her good moves. Unless she is a fool, she will strive to learn. She saw me whipped, and she won't be eager to be the next girl who displeases you. But it will take some time before we have her dancing really well. I needed over a month before I didn't feel awkward or silly. But she walks well, and she is scared. She will do her best. But Marguerite should be the next to dance, or I will dance again before Diana does. Marguerite is our best, though."

"It is good," he pronounced. "Now, kiss my hand before I have you returned to your friends. Then, the guards will bring in Marguerite. I wish to interrogate her about some things before we sleep. If she is submissive, when she is returned to the slave tent, you girls can sleep with your hands locked in front, in an arrangement like Diana's. Her hands can be moved in front, and then be locked to her belly chain. This will let you rest far better. Also, I will send you some fruit and candy, for you have danced well. The other girls will be told that you earned them their treats. You have pleased me, girl. Continue to do so, and things will go as easily as I am prepared to allow. But you must all learn the basic things before you arrive in Amarrah. Understand?"

"Yes, Master," Veronica said, with her eyes downcast. She was becoming forlorn, wondering whether their safari friends had any idea at all of where they were. What if she was doomed to serve the Sultan like Marguerite had? She had never dreamed of anything that bizarre when Marguerite had told her and Finn of her slave life several years ago. Fate was so strange. And to think that I once criticized her for doing what she had to...

They led Veronica out on her light chain leash, but were only halfway to the slave tent when a man rushed out of it, shouting for Khalid.

"What, Amal?" that worthy demanded. "What is the fuss?"

"Effendi, I went to demand that Ali pay me the money that he borrowed last month, and he is gone. Selim lies dead in the tent, a knife wound in the top of his shoulder. And the girls' boots are gone, and the water and blankets. They have escaped, or been taken!"

Khalid and Ahmed rushed to confirm this news. It was as Amal had said. He noted that Marguerite's panties were also gone, suggesting that she had taken them. A raider might not have thought to get them, but she would. Selim's pistol and his knife were gone, too.

Khalid was furious. "Ahmed, take Veronica to my tent and chain her there to this iron ball. Fasten her sitting with her ankle chains locked to the ball, and lock her leash to the ball also, shortly enough that she has to lean over deeply as she sits. Then, blindfold and gag her. Leave two guards with her."

"Take ten men then, and guard the African girls and the ivory. The rest of us will arm ourselves and search the compound before we do anything else. If whoever did this is within our boma, we need to know at once. Also, check the perimeter for tracks of anyone who may have left. If someone rescued these girls, their footprints should tell us who. Those damned white hunters and their clients haven't had time to reach us. And if it was the police or soldiers, they would be calling for us to surrender. The hunters would also not have left without Veronica being rescued. Hasten! We must know the extent of our peril! Native warriors may be behind this!"

He bitterly contemplated what he would have to tell the Sultan if he could not recover the missing women, And if they were truly gone, thousands of pounds value in gold was also gone, as far as he was concerned. Perhaps the angry Sultan would no longer buy even Veronica. He wondered what someone else would pay for her, if she had to be sold on an auction block. Probably not the amount that the Sultan had offered. Still, any beautiful blonde Western girl would fetch a tidy sum in a Middle Eastern slave market. And his Indian co-conspirators at the dukka should have other white girls there when he arrived. He would still make much money, but Marguerite knew who he was, and for that reason alone, she must be recovered, lest he become a lifelong fugitive.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Marguerite and Diana ran as fast as they could in the dark. Marguerite had a military flashlight that she had taken from the dead guards, but hesitated to use it, for the slavers would be looking for that.

She stopped often and ran back along their trail using the bush to erase where they had gone. And they changed direction several times. In the dark, this might allow them to hide.

They almost stepped on a saw-scaled viper, but heard the rustling of its scales making a warning rasp just in time. These little snakes possessed particularly deadly venom, and were not to be trifled with. Marguerite was grateful that it hadn't been a spitting cobra, or they might have been blinded from a distance!

They finally heard a commotion in the camp, and realized that the drums had stopped. They didn't realize at first that Khalid wasn't sure who had taken them, or if they had fled on their own, or just where they had gone. Thus, it was several minutes before he and Ahmed guessed where they had breeched the fence. Even then, they were not sure until they found Ali's body. So, the girls had more time to get lost in the darkness than they had expected. It was over half an hour before the slavers were fairly sure what had happened. Even then, they feared that someone had rescued or stolen the missing women.

"They are but sluts, women. Ali and Selim were strong men, and they were overpowered. And would even this tricky girl, Marguerite, know how to slay a man with a knife, the way that someone did?" Khalid was seriously worried.

"Those white hunters and Lord Roxton carry knives. So do the Challenger couple, although I doubt that Mem'Sahib Finn could do this. But the men...Roxton and Hamilton are highly decorated war heroes, and might know this way to kill. And Challenger is a great scientist. He knows the arteries and veins of men as well as of those animals that he kills. He is still a powerful man. And Roxton and the hunters will know how to deal with the night." Juma was deeply concerned for what Lady Roxton had told him about her husband, and that girl Finn worried him. He had seen Finn shoot, or the results, and heard the gun bearers and skinners singing her praises. _Mem'Sahib Bunduki_, they called her: Lady Gun. He felt very vulnerable in the firelight. Even now, one of the men or that damned blonde Englishwoman who sounded American might be aiming a rifle at him. They would want him dead, for revenge. He remembered Finn's coolness with the puff adder. She had hit the snake's head easily with her .38 revolver, and then just calmly poured her husband's coffee. She handled that gun as if she was very familiar indeed with it. And she and the other sluts were very close to one another. Roxton would also dare anything to save his woman. Juma had seen them together when no else one watched, and the love that passed between them was plain to see. He shivered a little, although the night was warm. Finn and Roxton both had rifles with them that had telescopic sights, too. A chilling thought!

"I have an idea," muttered Khalid. "Bring Veronica. Leave her gagged and blindfolded. I do not wish her to call out when I yell something about her into the night."

Soon, Veronica Malone, her hands still cuffed behind her and her ankles chained, was brought to stand in the light of the largest fires.

"Marguerite!" howled Khalid. "See your blonde friend here? I hold her leash, and I hold her destiny in my hands, also. If you do not surrender, I will kill her! Can you hear me, you clever whore? I will slay her if you escape!"

But the other girls were too far away to be sure what he said. Diana guessed the likely content, and asked what they should do.

"Nothing," shrugged Marguerite. "Realistically, we can't. I feel terribly cold and self centered at not helping her, but there is nothing that we can do. There are two of us free, where there were none. Khalid knows her value as a slave. He will probably punish her, but he will not harm her in any permanent way. She is too valuable. That blonde mane of hers makes her a trophy slave in Arab lands. And he has seen her dance. A man would have to be a fool, a eunuch, or a homosexual to dispose of someone like Vee." She smiled at her witticism.

"I hope that her poor husband is all right," whispered Diana. "All three of you women are so lucky to have the men that you do. Your husband is so handsome, Marguerite, and the way that he looks at you... I only hope that Stuart will someday look at me in just that way."

"Obviously, you haven't seen John look at me when we're having an argument," laughed Marguerite.

Khalid saw Veronica trembling, for she had heard what he had screamed into the darkness. He stepped over to her.

"Do not fear, blonde slave. I will not truly kill you unless I have to, to prevent your own escape or for a really grave offense. You are too valuable. But you will please me fully, and at length, and you will be whipped more frequently if I do not recover your friends. The sooner that I get you aboard ship and out into the Indian Ocean, the better life will be for both of us."

What a wonderful future I have to look forward to over the next week, mused Veronica. I'm going to be whipped and shipped! Oh, Marguerite! Why didn't you save me, too?! I'm going to wind up like you did when you were just 20. I'll never see poor Ned again, and I just know that he needs me as much as I need him! She began to cry into the padded blindfold. This disgusted her, for she was a brave woman. But sometimes, too much was too much. And for all of her former tantrums over relatively petty issues, and for all of her true courage, Veronica Malone was a woman, and very feminine. She remembered her children in London, and she openly wept, her sobs audible through the heavy gag.

Khalid repeated his challenge, and still heard nothing but a roar.

"_Simba!"_ mouthed Juma and several of the other Africans. Their eyes grew wide, and they looked uneasily at the gap in the boma. Lions were near, and that was not good.

"Marguerite!" hissed Diana. "Get down on the ground slowly and quietly. Pull a blanket over us and get ready to shoot, if you have to. I smell lions, close." Her eyes were wide, for she had seen what a lion could do to a human being, or to large prey animals. She was, after all, a Kenya girl. Now, she knew more about what might happen than her friend did.

Marguerite took a close look at her in the moonlight, and did what she said.

As they lay still, Diana whispered that the wind had changed and that it now blew from the camp toward them.

"So?" whispered back an exasperated Lady Roxton. "What does which way the breeze blows matter?"

"Lions can scent things, if not as well as antelope and the like. I smelled their acrid odor, so they could smell us. But I think they are more focused on that camp and the horses and camels. And the breeze was blowing from them to us. They may not have smelled us, after all. But be silent. Our lives probably depend on it."

A few moments later, Marguerite sensed large shapes moving past in the night. She saw the silhouettes of several lionesses and two big lions, probably brothers, if what Challenger and Roxton had told them about lions was true. And the white hunters had nodded as they listened, agreeing with the former Treehouse men.

Marguerite thought that she might have a heart attack, and not of the sort that she had when John gave her that certain look that made her blood race. What was the name of that bloody book that Col. Patterson wrote? Ah, "The Man-Eaters of Tsavo"! She felt as if she was starring in a film production of it. She gripped the Webley, wondering where to shoot a lion with a pistol.

A lioness paused near her and snarled softly. Another was making a rumbling, growling noise just beyond. Then, she sensed them moving. Vee was right, she thought: Can this bloody day possibly get any better?!"

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Back in the safari camp, Finn poured Challenger his tea, then tugged his chair out from the table and sat on his lap. This raised several pair of eyebrows, especially those of Lady Musgrave. She cleared her throat firmly and asked, "Mrs. Challenger, is there something the matter with your chair? I feel sure that Mr. Blacklaws will have a boy bring you another, if there is."

Finn didn't register the admonishment as such. She said calmly, "My chair's fine. I just need to sit here for awhile, and it helps the Genius to think. I bring him luck, too."

"Quite right you are, Darling," her husband said. "In fact, you no more than sat down than I saw what I have been seeking." He put an affectionate arm around Finn, to show Lady Musgrave what he thought of her indignation.

He turned the map toward the District Commissioner and Capt. Thorne.

"Look at this fault in the ridge wall." He pointed with his fountain pen. "With as few as five sticks of dynamite or a similar explosive, I can bring down that wall, closing off the ravine. Thorne, your lads can come up the ravine behind them, and the slavers will be trapped." He looked pleased with himself.

"Lover, we still have to get there and blow off the wall before those guys escape," pointed out Mrs. Challenger. "How can we do that?"

"I have been contemplating that," Challenger replied. "Now, on this next photo is there not a small passage here? Will this not let our cars get past that granite outcropping and run for the ravine, as soon as it is light enough to drive? The cars will go faster than camels, and we can drive across that 30 mile gap between the road and the ravine as quickly as you please. We should be ahead of those varlets!"

"Let me see that!" exclaimed Hardy. "Yes, by Jove! The rains must have washed out some debris there. That gap wasn't there last year at this time. Only a pilot would have seen that. Probably, no one else has wandered in there since. The place is pretty remote, and the hunting wouldn't be any better than in closer areas. But we shall have to drive very carefully. That gap may not be as clean on the ground as it looks from the air."

Musgrave made a decision. "Angus, will you take the safari to your place, with my wife? I'll telephone the railway from there and demand that they get a train with empty boxcars for the horses to the station at Hunter's Drift as soon as possible. Craig, take your men on the train and get in behind that lot as best you can, once Professor Challenger blows the fault. Have you got any explosives at your farm, Angus?"

"Yes, I can manage a little dynamite. We have some that we've been using to blast out some rocks where I want to plant corn soon. If it will get my daughter back, you can have the entire box of boom-booms! I have about ten sticks." Hardy felt better than he had in hours.

Some final planning followed, then the group broke up and began cleaning up the maps.

Lady Musgrave walked over to the professor and his spouse and asked in a voice dripping with condescension, "May I have a private word with you, Mrs. Challenger?"

Finn nodded, and the ladies went behind a tent. The men looked uneasily at each other, and Roxton asked, "What is that all about? George?"

Challenger shrugged. "Looks like some women's' issue. If they get too loud, Musgrave, you and I will go after them and sort it out. But let us hope that it is friendlier than it looked to be. The last thing that we need now is any female squabbling!"

"You can say that again," grumbled Ned Malone. "Who has the aspirin bottle? My head is still killing me. Damn, I hope that the girls are all right, considering. I'm worried sick about Veronica."

"It could be worse, Ned," joked an also concerned Roxton. "About now, those slavers are likely getting the full benefit of one of Marguerite's tantrums. It's probably safer being back here."

"Mrs. Challenger " began Lady Musgrave, "I'm a little concerned that you may be cold in those abbreviated shorts. Or, get sunburned legs tomorrow. I have a spare pair of riding pants. Would you like to see if they may fit you?" She gave Finn a meaningful look.

"No, ma'am, I have jodhpurs and plain trousers. And I may wear them tomorrow, because that bush looks pretty thick between the road and that ravine. I may have to go through stuff that's really scratchy, or lie on my cute little tummy if I'm to get a good shot at those bastards. But thank you. Look, I have spare pairs of these shorts. I could maybe give you some, so that you can discover how comfortable they are? And the guys like them, too. Wearing them gets their attention!" She smiled, trying to defuse the situation.

"Really, Mrs. Challenger! Young lady, I am the wife of a District Commissioner. Like Caesar's wife, I must be above reproach. I hardly think that people would approve of my walking around in those, looking like some hussy. "

"Try it at home, then. Your Caesar might pay more attention to you and less to riding off to conquer Gaul or in going to the Senate. Or, in this case, to Government House in Nairobi."

Amanda Musgrave was mildly surprised to discover that Finn would know about Julius Caesar, let alone his career. Maybe she was more than met the eye. But probably not. She had seen younger women marry older men before, and money was usually the reason. That did not sit well with her, nor did the looks that the men were giving the attractive young wife of the distinguished scientist. Her husband had been caught twice doing that, and she was certain that he had looked additional times when Amanda's back was turned.

"Mrs. Challenger, if you must dress that way, please consider the effect that it has on your husband's reputation. You do love him at least a little, I hope? He seems to take excellent care of you."

Yeah," agreed Finn. "But I take really good care of him, too. I'm proud of it, and I do it although we have servants at home as well as here. But some things, I do for George because I'm his, and he's mine. I get teased for it, but I don't mind. I'm actually rather proud of fussing over him. The guy is a terrific lover and friend, and I'm married to someone so smart that he makes Leonardo Da Vinci look like a kid playing with crayons!" Her pride was evident and so genuine that Lady Musgrave was taken aback. Perhaps she had misread the situation?

"Well, look here: Finn - is that your name?- just be careful not to make any overtures to the other gentlemen, no matter how much they admire those bare legs of yours. I will not tolerate that, especially if you try to come between Sir John and me. Have I made myself clear?"

"Not really," quipped the blonde girl. "For one thing, I don't make overtures. I'm an author, not a composer. But I do sort of like the William Tell Overture. Do you know that one?" She just managed not to add, bitch.

"And my real name is Nicole. Nicole Elizabeth Challenger. Used to be Finnegan, so that's where the Finn comes from. Only my friends call me that. I'd like you to become one...Amanda. Look, lady, I'm entirely Mrs. George Challenger, and I have NO designs on any other men. I just enjoy the attention that I get from them. No way am I going to blow what I have with George. The whole universe moves around that man, as far as I'm concerned, and whenever I think about being his woman, I just want to sing. But I think you could fit into a pair of my shorts pretty well, if you want to accept my offer. It's for real, and I bet you'd look good in them. No reason why you shouldn't have the guys look at you, too. It might make old 'Caesar' be more romantic. How long have you guys been married?"

"Ah," stammered a surprised Lady Musgrave. "Uh, for almost ten years. I married right out of university. Are you serious...Finn? You think I'd look good in those?" She glanced enviously at Finn's superb, toned legs.

"Yeah, I think you can wear these. And I and the other girls, once we get them back, will tell you how to do some exercises that will tone you up and make you feel like the belle of the ball again. You have to be within a few years of my age. You seem really smart, too. I like that. And I do want to be your friend. Will you come with us after the slavers? It would give you more closeness to him to be with Sir John. I make a point of doing things with George and Johnny, because they're my best pals, besides one being my husband. Men can be fun if you let them. Can you shoot? We may need you, if you can. No telling how many slavers are with that caravan."

"Good heavens, you're serious! You really expect to be allowed to go after those vermin." Lady Musgrave was shocked, if intrigued. "Finn, that will be dangerous work."

"Sure," grinned the girl from the future. "But as you doubtless think, I'm an adventuress, if not quite in the sense that you have in mind. I want material for my next book." She grew very serious and Amanda Musgrave sensed her fervor.

"And, Amanda, those bastards took two women who are in all but blood my sisters. I'd never forgive myself if I wasn't in on getting them back. I'm pretty dangerous, myself, when I have to be. And those creeps opened a war on us that I mean to help finish. I'd like you with us if you have the guts. Please come."

Lady Musgrave cleared her throat. "Finn, my husband would hardly..."

"Never mind that. George and I will take him aside and reassure him that your coming won't hurt his male image or his precious career. It may help both. My husband is friends with men in the House of Lords, including, obviously, the Earl of Avebury, whose wife needs saving just now."

They talked a little longer, the men at the table getting more uneasy with each passing moment. At last, Challenger looked at Musgrave, and said, "Sir John, perhaps we should both go see what's keeping our women."

Musgrave nodded, and the men headed for the tent behind which the ladies were talking. Malone rolled his eyes at Roxton, and the worried lord smiled back. He held up a hand with fingers crossed for luck, and poor Malone smiled for the first time since he had been struck on the head that day.

The men were met by two women holding hands and talking animatedly, on their way back to the table.

"Oh, there you are, Darling!" exclaimed Challenger. "I trust that you ladies are all right?"

"Sure, Genius," said Finn walking over and giving him a quick kiss on the lips as he bent for her to reach him. He knew when she was going to do it. There was something about them that made him know when she wanted that...Even when he was concentrating in the lab, if she walked over in a certain way; he automatically looked away from the microscope for a moment. And he always felt better for it.

"We're just going to our place for a minute," said Finn. "Sir John, I'm giving Amanda a spare pair of my shorts. We thought you might like to see her in them. And she's going with us after the slavers tomorrow, too."

"Eh?" An astonished Sir John Musgrave, D.S.O., M.C., etc. looked at Lady Musgrave. "Darling, you know better than that! You can't possibly go!"

"Certainly, I can, John. Finn is going to lend me one of her rifles. That's been decided. Now, go along to our tent and get ready for bed. I'll be along soon. We girls are almost finished talking."

In fact, it was close to an hour before Lady Musgrave entered her husband's tent, a rifle case in her hand.

"John, Dear, I'm sorry that I took so long. We girls found a lot to talk about. And Finn did give me those shorts. I tried them on, and she says that I look good in them. But I told her that you must be the ultimate judge of that. May I show you?"

She lit a lantern, and Musgrave sat up in bed and looked. His eyes widened, but he said nothing, trying to think of the best response.

"There's more, I'm afraid," whispered his wife. "John, these women are so scandalous! She also gave me a pair of what they wear under their clothes. Is this not shocking? Just look! Dare I wear these for you?"

And she took off the shorts as Musgrave's eyes followed, and removed her shirt and camisole. She wore just a pair of bikini panties, in pink, lest a darker color might prove too strong for her husband. She turned in them, knowing that his eyes tracked her for every inch.

He stared, and Lady Musgrave asked, "Should I wear these tomorrow? I mean the shorts? If Finn and I both do, it will be less noticeable, and she says that they are so cool in this heat! Are my legs good enough for that?" She held the lantern so that he could see, in case he had forgotten to look of late.

He cleared his throat. "Perhaps you might wear long pants or a suitable skirt, Amanda. The bush is pretty thick where we're going, if you do insist on coming, and bringing Challenger's wife. She seems the determined sort. And Roxton has assured me that she has seen danger before, and acquitted herself well. But those little knickers...do wear those. And keep the shorts. Our home - when no one is there officially - has no brush to scratch you, and Finn is right about your legs. I married them. I really should see more of them. Now, come to bed, and let me see how you feel in those trim little knickers. Or, maybe out of them. But we must make an early start tomorrow..."

Capt. Thorne remembered something that he needed to ask the District Commissioner, and went to his tent to see if he had retired yet. What he heard coming from the tent pulled him up short and he decided that his question could wait until morning. At least, the DC should be in a good mood after what he and Amanda were doing before they slept!

Whatever the ladies had said to one another had certainly ended far better than he and the other men had expected!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Dawn hemorrhaged over the savannah, the sun's rays reaching into the ravine, casting shadows over much of the caravan.

Khalid had slept badly, and he was cross, as were Ahmed and most of the other men. The lions had kept them up most of the night, and the possibility that whoever had taken the missing slaves might be very real and looking for another chance to attack had further frayed nerves.

Khalid half believed Veronica that she had had nothing to do with the escape, if only because he couldn't imagine Marguerite or Diana overpowering his men and using a knife that skillfully. That left only even more frightening possibilities, and he was eager to get men out searching for the women and whoever was with them. With the sun up, tracks would be easier to find.

He had Veronica's wrists locked behind her again, stacked, in the Irish 8 cuffs. Then he took her out to the center of their enclosure and chained her shackled ankles to the heavy iron ball and left her displayed there. And he left a sentry to watch her, so concerned was he that someone might attempt to free her. He wasn't totally sure that Marguerite and Diana hadn't had inside help from a traitor in his own camp! Khalid had her placed out in the open, in the sun, where any watchers could see her plight. He wanted to anger and trouble anyone watching, forcing them to reveal themselves in a rescue attempt. If nothing else, the escaped women would suffer anguish over seeing her displayed this way, and dread what he might do to them if they were re-captured.

He wanted to leave her blindfolded, but decided that it was even better to let her see, that she might "enjoy" the looks that his men gave her. He wanted her to feel totally helpless, exposed, and intimidated. And if this upset any watchers, so much the better!

As a final insulting touch, he had her pink hair ribbon tied on again, for he did like her in a ponytail. She was actually a ravishing sight so displayed, and he told her so. He wanted her to learn to crave male praise, and to want to be seen in ways that pleased men. That was her future in the seraglio of her future master: to please men.

After they had eaten, Khalid sent men out to locate what sign they could of the escaped women. He pulled a stool over next to where Veronica sat on a low cushion, to keep her bottom off the stony ground. He offered her a bowl of rice and canned beef, which had been heated on their campfires.

"I'm not hungry," she answered, fighting to avoid calling him choice names that would result in her being treated even worse.

"Slave, you must eat," he encouraged her. "You must remain well fed, for I do not torture my girls with near starvation, as may happen if you show resistance where you are going. You will already face pain and other stress, and not eating will only add to that. Finally, if you refuse to eat, I will call over the ugliest man in my caravan, and I will unfasten you and give you to him for an hour. You must do as he chooses, and I will share with you the things that Yusuf likes to do to a woman."

What he told her changed her mind about eating. One thing, in particular, she never did even with Ned, both of them having found it uncomfortable for them as a couple. Ned had decided that he respected her too much to enjoy that act, and she pleased him more in other ways. She certainly did not want Yusuf doing that to her, not to mention the other "charming" activities that Khalid had mentioned. A session with Yusuf would be her ultimate humiliation, especially with others watching, as he forced himself on her, in the open. Her friends might even be watching, through binoculars!

"Master," she begged, "I apologize for being snitty. Please feed me. I know that you are right: I must eat." And she knew that if she was to have any hope of escape, she did indeed need to remain as well fed as she could. She needed her strength. Showing her temper was simply counterproductive. Defiance now was not in her best interest, however much it might be her nature. What she had gotten away with briefly as a slave of Tribune, the lizard man on the Plateau, Khalid would not tolerate. In retrospect, she was now amazed that she had not been severely punished by Tribune's slave tenders. When she had been taken by other slavers, they had not had time to begin breaking her spirit before George Challenger had shown up and slain one with a lightning bolt from his temporarily enchanted hand...(Note: I think this episode was called, "Absolute Power"? Tribune first appeared in, "More Than Human.")

Still, she felt belittled by having to kneel before him and lean over and take each bite from Khalid's hand. She decided to do this in a graceful, submissive way, for whatever credit it might gain her. She feared being whipped before the caravan got underway that morning.

Marguerite and Diana found a shallow part of the ravine, with dirt and rock sides, avoiding the steeper rock walls. They were soon up on the savannah above the caravan, running as fast as they could. Marguerite used her thorn bush to eliminate their tracks as best she could, which slowed them, but hid their trail.

They stopped to drink, and were profoundly grateful that the full water bottles (canteens) had been left in their tent. Marguerite asked her new friend about edible plants or fruit, but Diana saw none. The night had turned cold and they huddled under the stolen blankets. They were grateful to see the sun rise, but lamented losing the cover of darkness.

When they saw the figures of Khalid's men looking for them, they hid in a depression and pulled one dull green blanket over them, lying on the other. With her hands fastened as they were, Diana was helpless, and only Marguerite could use a gun.

She had checked Selim's weapon, a Luger 9mm automatic. It held only the eight cartridges in the magazine and another eight in the spare magazine, which fitted in a pouch sewn to the German military holster. Sixteen shots, plus the 24 for the Webley… Not much, if they had to hold off an attack. And the slavers had rifles and a light machinegun, a British Lewis, probably stolen from a supply depot, or sold by a dishonest NCO in a native regiment. Or, maybe it was supplied by the Sultan of Amarrah, to further criminal activities on his behalf!

"Do you know how to work that Luger, Marguerite? Daddy has one that he captured in the war, and I've shot it a number of times. I can tell you how to use it." Diana could at least do that much, she felt.

"Thank you, Diana, but I know how it works. I've killed men with one of these, and I'll do it again, if I have to. But our best bet is to stay hidden and hope that they can't look for us all day. We need to find help before the water runs out and we get too hungry."

Khalid grew weary of waiting. He ordered the caravan to pack, so that they could leave when the searchers returned. He decided not to whip Veronica. Her change of attitude had calmed him. And time was short if he was to flee before troops could locate his caravan. He dreaded aircraft, in particular.

The white captive was freed of the ball and had her wrists tied in front and tied to her waist. Her ankles were hobbled, and she was told that she would be placed in a hammock alongside a camel soon.

"I like having your hands behind you, slave, but if you get a bad jolt if the camel falls, your arms are less likely to be damaged this way. You represent a considerable amount of money to me, and you will see that I take good care of you. When we reach the ship, you will have your own cage, and it will be nicer than riding these accursed camels."

He told her that she must dance again that evening and that how well she did it would determine how hard she would be whipped the next morning.

The other girls were frightened as the searchers came closer. One was a native tracker, and he was good. But the stony ground in places and Marguerite's efforts to conceal their trail made the work slower than he liked.

Suddenly, there came the sound of an airplane. Everyone looked up, and it was soon in sight.

The pilot saw them and made another pass over the searchers, and one over the canyon where the caravan lay.

One of the searchers fired his rifle at the plane, and the pilot banked sharply and flew off.

The searchers ran back to the caravan, Khalid summoning them on a high-pitched whistle.

The pilot chanced another run, looking to see just what was there. He had felt the bullet hit his plane's fuselage, and he wanted to report whoever had fired at him.

"Oh, my gosh, that is Tim Parker's plane!" exclaimed Diana. "Peel the blanket off of us and let Tim see us. He'll know that something is wrong and send help. He only lives 40 miles from me!"

So, the women lay exposed on the ground, frantically waving Marguerite's arms. Diana flexed her legs, hoping that the motion was visible from the air.

The aircraft banked again and made four passes over the missing women, then one more over the camp of the slavers. It swerved sharply as several more shots were fired at it. Then, it flew off to the northeast, the pilot making the engine roar as he fled the scene. It was obvious that he was headed somewhere that he could notify the police of what he had discovered.

Khalid was furious. He ordered the caravan to make ready to leave. He turned to Ahmed and informed him that the two of them would take just five men and Veronica and run ahead of the main caravan. He placed Yusuf in charge of the main unit, telling him where to turn off the trail and move toward the coast and the rendezvous with the slave ship. He and the smaller group would meet with the Goan Indian Rangaswamy at his dukka, where two more white girls, captured in Nairobi, would be brought. These would then go to a different ship. It was smaller than the big dhow needed to carry the African girls and the 200 tusks of ivory, but was faster and less conspicuous, and better able to evade Royal Navy patrols.

He knelt beside Veronica and told her that she would be blindfolded after they reached a certain place. "It is not to punish you, girl, but for our security. If you behave well, you will be treated as well as is appropriate with your new station in life. If you behave badly, you will be treated badly. Is this clear to you?"

"Yes, Master," answered a despondent Veronica. All she could do was to hope desperately that whoever was in that airplane had seen what was happening and would send help, and that it would not come too late...

Marguerite and Diana were thrilled that the airplane had caused the searchers to call off their hunt and return to the caravan. They waited an hour, without anyone else coming after them.

Marguerite sneaked up the depression and hid behind a large rock outcropping to look into the slavers' camp. No one there... They had gone! A few vultures were circling where the camels had been, but when Diana looked, she wasn't too concerned.

"Marguerite, if that was Veronica's body down there, the birds would be thicker. That few probably just means that they're fighting over some scraps of garbage that the caravan left. And, if it hadn't left, the vultures wouldn't be landing."

The women decided that they were safe from pursuit, but they still faced a dangerous wilderness with no food, no clothing, no rifles, and little water.

"Can we find a stream or river safe to drink from?" Marguerite wondered.

"None near here, probably," said a worried Diana. "If we find a dry river, we might be able to dig for water in the bed, like elephants do. It's often down there, below the mud. But we have to find a way to strain and boil it, and we haven't any utensils. I think we'd better hope that Tim sends help soon. He's a nice bloke. Owns a farm near mine, as distance out here goes. We've lots of open space in Kenya."

"Do you know a lot about animals?" asked Marguerite. "You certainly seemed to know a lot about lions last night."

Diana smiled. "I shot my first lion at 14. Daddy backed me up with his heavy rifle, of course. But I shot well, and that lion hide is on my bedroom wall today. I've killed 11 of the blighters, and I respect them a great deal. You don't want to get careless with them. They're very dangerous. Sometimes, they'll run from almost nothing. The next day, the same pride will charge with little or no provocation. Look here; can you shoot that Luger well? I can hit fairly small targets with Daddy's to at least 75 yards. We might be able to knock over a small antelope, and eat that. Can you make a fire without matches?"

No," Marguerite said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "Can you?"

"Sometimes," Diana replied. "I know the drill. I just can't always get it to work. We need two sticks of dry wood to rub, or to bore one into the other. Or, some sort of lens. Pity that you don't wear glasses."

"Me?!" exclaimed a shocked Marguerite. "Look here, if one of us ought to have had to wear eyeglasses, it should be you! Men don't like those!"

Both ladies laughed, lifting their spirits. Then, they heard the thunder of hooves, and crouched in the long grass as a herd of impala raced past, a pack of wild dogs in pursuit. (Note: the ghost of George Challenger has just whispered to me, reminding me to tell you that the Cape Hunting Dog, _Lycaon pictus_, is wholly a different genus and species from the spotted hyena, _Crocuta crocuta. _George was confident that readers would want to know this.)

After the desperate chase had passed from view, Marguerite asked whether the dogs were dangerous.

"They probably pull down whatever they can," responded Diana. "But we don't hear of many people being attacked. Baboons kill more people than the wild hunting dogs. But I'm glad that they didn't see us or scent us. I'd hate to find out the hard way that they like meeting naked women without rifles."

"We aren't naked," comforted Marguerite. "I've got my little knickers on and we have these blankets. If anyone finds us, we can each wrap one around us like Roman togas. Look: if one of those lions had tried to take a bite out of us last night, could I have killed it with a pistol?"

"Just one lion, before the others were on us? Probably, if you knew just where to hit it. There was a game ranger chap in South Africa who successfully stabbed a lion that was dragging him off to eat. Put a six-inch blade in its heart, and that did the trick. (Note: This is a true story. The ranger was named Harry Wolhuter, and the lion's hide was displayed for years in Kruger National Park.)

"But I'd hate to shoot a lion with a revolver, if it could be avoided. And if there are several, I wouldn't give the proverbial snowball's chance in Hell for our odds. But last evening, I'd have given about the same odds on our ever being free again. Marguerite, you were magnificent!" Diana was deeply impressed by her companion.

"Thanks. I aim to please. And I was utterly desperate not to go to Amarrah if there was any possible alternative." Marguerite shuddered at that dismal thought.

The women began walking toward where Diana thought they might find rescuers coming to their aid. She asked Marguerite to tell her more about what conditions they would have endured as slaves. The answer made her shiver in the warm sunlight.

After an hour, they stopped in the shade of an acacia tree, which Diana looked over to be sure that there were no snakes in its branches. She told Marguerite how to distinguish the deadly boomslang from the also very lethal green mamba. Marguerite was as chilled by this matter-of-fact knowledge as Diana had been with her tales of the slave block and the seraglio. They were fast becoming real friends. If nothing else, this sordid episode in their lives had brought them together, and they might know one another for years to come, now.

"Marguerite, I'm sure that Geoff and Stuart won't charge you for the safari after this happening. If you want to stay on, Daddy and I will see that you get some good shooting. Or, the lads will give you a free or reduced rate. Would you like that? Daddy and I would love to have you as our guests." Diana liked her new companion, and wanted to learn more of her adventurous life.

"We'll see," her friend answered. "Much probably depends on how Ned is, and whether we recover Veronica. How are you bearing up? We had a rather rum time with that lot."

"I think I'll make it all right, if I don't find my reputation in tatters. If Stuart will still marry me, I'm going to cope, I think. Look, Marguerite, Khalid and his charming Arab friends did about everything to me that they could think of, short of actually raping me. I was made to pose for them in very servile ways, too, I feel awfully dirty. How did you deal with that? You were a slave, but you are still strong, and beautiful, and you married an exceptional man."

Marguerite blushed. This girl was certainly honest. And her praise was music to Marguerite's ears, for she had loathed herself at times for what she had been through.

"Thank you, Diana. You're beautiful, yourself, which is why they were so eager to kidnap you. You would have sold for a high price, I'm sure. But I have never quite fully recovered from what I went through. Roxton has helped a lot, and Finny had a hard life, too, before she joined our little group. She and I and Vee have become very close, and we all nurture one another. Challenger has also helped Finn a great deal. They're in love, but she may also have a psychological dependency on him, for getting her to think better of herself and for giving her a new life. We all have our emotional scars. If you need to talk, I'm here, or ask one of the others. We're all bound together in this, and you mustn't think badly of yourself for what you were forced to do. If Stuart Hamilton rejects you, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind. He may be as brave as they come when facing a charging elephant, but he's never been up against an angry Marguerite Roxton!"

Diana smiled at the thought. "Well, let's give poor Stuart a chance. He may come through for me yet. I say: will you teach me to dance, like you learned in Amarrah? "

And so the two passed the time as they waited for help to come. Surely, the pilot had seen them!

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Just at dawn, the safari and its added guests rose and faced the day. They were hopeful, but glum over what had happened. The DC's wife whispered to him that if he handled this well, he might enhance his career in the Colonial Service.

"We could apply for that posting to Jamaica that we want." she added, and Musgrave brightened.

As they loaded into the cars after breakfast, Finn took Ned's arm, squeezed his shoulder encouragingly, and pecked him on the cheek. "We'll get her back, Neddy, you'll see. She'll be fine."

Finn hoped that she was right. She got in between Amanda Musgrave and her own husband, whose hand she took. Amanda saw that, and realized that in fact, the Challengers were very much in love, and that whatever else Finn was, she wasn't just after Challenger's fortune. That sort of restored her faith in humanity, especially in the blonde female side of it.

Blacklaws got in behind the steering wheel, looked over at the other drivers, and switched on the car. And they were off, to Hardy's farm to get the dynamite and use the radio.

After his encounter with the caravan and the naked white women that morning, Tim Parker raced to his farm and landed on the runway near the main house.

He ran to the house, where he told his wife and the (white) farm manager what had happened.

Picking up the telephone, he dialed the number of the nearest post of the Kenya Police. But the line was dead. He realized with a rush of horror that the line had probably been cut, probably by the very men who had shot at him!

In a shop located on a back street of downtown Nairobi that morning, four Indian men went to a storage room and flipped on the light.

It revealed two English colonial girls, one 18, the other 20, who looked up in fright as the masked men confronted them. They were nude save for sandals, one blonde, the other with medium brown hair.

One was named Susan Wilson and the brunette was Holly Delaterre. Holly had a corrupted French last name (once De la Terre), but she was long removed from her Norman direct ancestors. When asked about her family, she shrugged and said, "Oh, well, 1066 and all that, you know."

Susan was the daughter of a failed accountant who had come to Kenya several years before to try to deal with his alcoholism. He had died the previous year, her mother having succumbed to influenza during the war. Susan had been barely 10 at the time, and was thankful for an aunt who had largely raised her before they had moved to Africa.

Holly was cut of a different cloth. The daughter of a baron whose ancestral name was inscribed in the Domesday Book, she was born to a banker. Her father owned the institution where Susan worked as a teller. Whereas Susan was modest and shy, Holly was impressed with herself, her family, her expensive car, and the sprawling farm that her family maintained in the White Highlands. She fully expected to marry John Ridley-Smythe IV, the scion of an affluent family who owned a hotel and an auto dealership in Nairobi.

But if she was fond of her wealth and family connections, she was well raised, considering her heritage. Not as much of a snob as one might guess at first meeting, Holly had a wry, somewhat earthy sense of humor, and always pitched in to help in a family crisis. She also attended sick native women on her father's estate, and had many friends among both men and women among the upper echelons of Kenya society. Cheerful, she often had a kind word for those who needed one, and she tried not to look down on those less fortunate than she was. Well, not by too much...

Holly in many ways represented the best of British colonial womanhood. She expected to become the wife of a prominent man, and to raise prominent children, who would grow up to own much of the colony, with substantial holdings in Britain.

Now, she, like the lowly bank clerk, was destined to become a slave girl in Amarrah.

Both Susan and Holly were bound, with their hands tied behind them. Their arms had also been tied snugly to their sides just above the elbows. Their crossed ankles were also tied, and they were gagged.

Holly had reflected on the gags, which were of padded heavy leather, with straps and steel buckles. They were obviously very professional items of their sort. Her hands were also so well tied that she had had no success at all in trying to loosen them. Nor had she been able to loosen Susan's bonds, although the girls had tried to free each other. The bound arms would, in any event, have prevented them working their hands around in front or resisting at all.

Gagged, sitting in the dark, she had concluded that she and Susan were in very serious straits. Their captors knew what they were doing. This was no casual kidnapping by relative amateurs. If only she had been captured, her first thought would be that it was for ransom. But why kidnap a bank teller? She knew Susan by sight, and knew what she did in her father's bank. And Susan was an orphan, probably barely getting by on her meager salary. Why kidnap her?

The awful truth came as she heard their captors talk. They spoke at times in English, and sound came through the door better than they realized. Both young women had heard the words that they dreaded: they were not being held for ransom. They were to be sold to an Arab master in Amarrah! They would become slave girls!

They were stood up now, and their bonds were checked. Susan shuddered as she saw Holly being fondled just before they were blindfolded. The blindfolds were also padded leather, and they buckled. Cloth hoods with small breathing vents were then tied over their heads. She soon felt hands all over her own body, and heard what must be crude comments as their handlers joked about them.

An authoritative voice stopped the fondling. "Ramal! Stop feeling up those girls for now and make them ready. The truck is waiting."

They were then put into sturdy cloth sacks and wrapped in Oriental rugs before being taken out to a dark green truck with no company markings.

Placed in back of the vehicle, they were removed from the rugs, but one was kept ready to throw over them in event that the truck doors had to be opened in a populated area.

The engine started, and the truck moved off. The girls sensed two men with them, and after an hour, their bodies were removed from the cloth bags, which had shielded them from the rough surface of the rugs. They knew that they lay on a large mattress, and a man sat now beside each girl. They felt hands on their bodies once more, and a man spoke to them in English.

"Relax and enjoy the sensation of our hands on your flesh. You are destined for a fate where men will handle you often, and very intimately. We will, through our most kind generosity, help you learn to become accustomed to that. "He had a nasty laugh.

He said something in Hindi to the other man, and then Holly cringed as he began probing her. She was brave for a woman, but she felt utter despair as she began crying into the padded blindfold. She heard Susan sobbing through her own gag, and wondered whether they would ever see their loved ones again.

At the Hardy farm, Musgrave listened to Tim Parker talking on the radio. Tim had first signaled the DC's residence, then to Angus Hardy's farm. He knew Angus's call sign, and hoped that his telephone worked. But it didn't. The line must have been sabotaged in several places.

Now aware of what was happening, Parker was told what to do by Musgrave.

He admitted that he could land his plane on the road at a point designated on the map, and said that he would refuel and take off as soon as his wife had made him some lunch and they had filled water bottles and added a rifle and ammunition to the aircraft. He had been flying earlier with only a revolver, and saw now that more might be needed if he had to land in a remote location.

Musgrave next raised the police post at M'beni (fictitious place) and spoke to the superintendent in charge. "Now, listen, Tom. Here is what I want you to do, as quickly as you please." And he described what he needed. He hoped desperately that the kidnappers didn't have a radio, and that if they did, they didn't know the frequency on which he was speaking. But with the telephone lines out, he had little choice but to speak over the radio. He was grateful that Parker also had a radio, considerably assisting their cause.

Resting on the blankets in the shade of the acacia tree, Marguerite got some fine dirt and dry grass and polished the blades of the Arab knives. She used a little of the precious water to rinse them, getting rid of the last of the blood of the men whom she had killed. She didn't want rust to form or to "pit" the steel.

One handle was of rhino horn, the other of ivory, both having silver inlays. Both knives were very well made by Middle Eastern standards, and one sheath was of tooled silver. The other sheath was brown leather, but with a silver throat and chape (tip) with silver filigree work on the body. The men whom she had slain seemed well off by the standards of their people. And they kept their knives sharp. Marguerite thought of making a spear for small game hunting, but decided that they would be rescued by the time that it would matter to have one. If she saw a chance to kill a small buck or a hare, she would just shoot it. But she still needed a way to get fire for cooking, and to signal. And she needed a source for more water! Their bottles would soon be empty.

Examining the belts, she noticed that one had engraved silver conchos, and used a knife to pry one off.

She polished it on the blanket, and resolved to keep it with her.

"What's that for?" asked her companion.

"Signaling. I hope," replied the brunette Briton. "Maybe the lads and Finn will be out here soon, and I want to be sure that we get noticed."

She used a knife point to punch a hole in the center of the disk, to aim with. It was a poor item for the need, but it was what she had, and Lady Roxton meant to do everything that she could to stay alive, and to recover her friend. Veronica must be terror stricken by now, feeling abandoned.

Oh, what will I tell Ned? she wondered. It was the hardest question that she had had to answer in some time.

Diana whispered for them to get low and be quiet, for she had seen a troop of baboons approaching. They were probably heading for a rocky outcrop behind them, several hundred yards in the distance.

After the baboons had passed, Marguerite asked if they were really all that dangerous.

"Yes!" answered the Kenya settler girl. "They injure some people every year, especially native women working in the fields, as you saw earlier. Daddy and I have to shoot some, to keep them from getting too bold and attacking our laborers. They will even steal children and eat them. The public knows so little of them, and they seem just big monkeys. But ask Stuart and Geoff if you want to hear some scary baboon stories!"

"I may just do that right now," said Marguerite. "Do my old eyes deceive me, or are those our hunting cars and a couple of others right there?" She rose and pointed down the hill at a convoy of vehicles driving their way.

" It is the cars," agreed an astonished, greatly relieved Diana Hardy. "And our truck is there, so Daddy must be along, and that's probably the District Commissioner in the front one. I hope that his wife isn't along. She can be a bit stuffy, and she'll make us feel awful about not being dressed. Her name is Amanda, in case she is there. Oh, Marguerite, get their attention! I shall simply die if they pass us by!" Handcuffed as she was, Diana could do little to help.

"Let me have your blanket," said Marguerite. "We'll stand out more against the hillside if we're uncovered, and I'll wave it to show some motion. The human eye sees motion before anything else."

She took the blanket and began waving it for all that she was worth.

Lord Roxton had his binocular hung around his neck on its leather strap, and when he thought he saw something moving on the hillside about half a mile away, he swung it up and was amazed at what he saw.

"Stuart!" he called. "I think I see two women on that hillside, waving something. Get over there a bit and stop, so I can get down and have a better look."

Hamilton drove over a bit, signaling to the other drivers with a light tap on his horn.

Challenger and his wife got out with their glasses up, too, as Roxton raised his 8X30 Zeiss. Challenger had the same brand, but a 10X50 model, with more magnification and additional light gathering power. It was he who confirmed that there were human figures there, signaling with a blanket.

"I'm afraid that they don't seem to have any clothes on, either," he announced. He steadied his glass on a tree beside the car. "By jove, Roxton! I think that may be Marguerite and another girl. She has dark hair, so it may be Miss Hardy."

Finn sat on a big rock and braced her elbows on her knees to steady her view. "I think you're right, Genius. They're coming this way. We'll be sure who they are in a moment. Wave back. They may be afraid that we haven't seen them."

Roxton waved. "Whoever they are, they seem to need our aid. Let's drive over closer. Then I'll get a rifle and go meet them."

"I'm coming, too," announced Finn. "Genius?"

"Yes," agreed her mate, "we definitely need to see what this is about. I'm quite sure that they are white women."

He reached for his .318 Westley Richards rifle and handed Finn her .275 Rigby, which was fitted with a Zeiss telescopic sight.

Roxton also took a .318, a very popular caliber in Africa in those days, among affluent sportsmen. He added a water bottle, for he was unable to see at that distance that the women had two of those. He grabbed a handrest as the driver accelerated the car.

Finn got out the clothes that they had brought, for she knew that these were nude women in need of clothing. If they were anyone other than those whom she hoped to meet, they still might be able to wear the sizes that they had. She had packed two outfits for each of the three missing women.

She was dressed today in jodhpur style khaki riding breeches and a short- sleeved pale blue shirt with tall boots. She wore her favorite Smith & Wesson .38 revolver, and had a khaki colored sun helmet on her head. Zeiss brand 8x30 binoculars were around her neck.

She looked back at the hunting car. "Coming, Amanda?" she asked Lady Musgrave. "Those women will probably be glad to see other ladies, I'd think."

Startled, Lady Musgrave got the .303 rifle that she'd borrowed from Finn and they trekked off to see who the strange women were.

From the next vehicle over, Angus Hardy was also watching the women approach. Although one woman was evidently tied or handcuffed, and had to be steadied in places by the other, he recognized her walk and the way that she turned her head to speak to the other and how she tossed her hair.

"Good heavens, Stuart," he called over to the next truck, "That's Diana!"

Both men got their rifles and ran after the Challengers and Roxton. Lady Musgrave was following the others more slowly, unsure of how she should behave.

As the parties closed distance, Marguerite slung the water bottles and the Luger pistol's belt around her shoulder and took Diana's arm. The two girls ran to meet their friends, laughing and sobbing at the same time.

Roxton slung his rifle and opened his arms as he ran to Marguerite. He enveloped her in his grasp, both Roxtons eagerly telling the other how glad they were to be together once again. Diana stood shyly, fully naked but for her boots, her hands behind her as Finn walked over and embraced her. "We brought you some clothes," she said. "You'd better put them on. Didn't Marguerite tell you that you chicks can get sunburned out here if you run around like that?"

Marguerite stuck out her tongue at Finn and said, "We were just doing what we knew that you'd like to, Finny! If any of us is an exhibitionist, it's you, dolly!"

Both women laughed, and Diana Hardy, although she was blushing scarlet as she watched her father and her fiancé walk up, joined them. She felt intoxicated with the joy of being free and meeting loved ones.

"Hi, Daddy, Stuart", she managed, knowing how she must look, nude and pink from shame.

Hardy picked up the blanket that Marguerite had dropped when she'd seized her man.

"I think that you'd better have this on until you can dress, Darling." he commented. "Stuart isn't supposed to see this much of you until after the wedding."

"I'll manage. She's quite easy on the male eye. Angus, you and your late wife certainly knew how to create a lovely woman." He embraced Diana, and the blanket slid again to the ground.

She kissed him as furiously as he did her, and an embarrassed Hardy stood by helplessly.

"They're engaged," he explained needlessly, looking mainly at Lady Musgrave, the one most likely to make an issue of the situation.

That lady saw now where her duty lay, and she decided against making a priggish fool of herself, pretending moral outrage when these women were clearly helpless victims of non-white villains.

"Lady Roxton, Miss Hardy," she said, "we are so sorry for what has happened. I assure you, my husband will deal very firmly with those who have outraged you. Now, when you girls decide to come up for air, I'll help you to get dressed."

"In a bloody minute," gasped Marguerite. "Roxton here hasn't finished handling me yet. And I damned well want him all over me for awhile!" Then, she and her man were again kissing each other like there was no tomorrow. For Marguerite, there might not have been much of a tomorrow, had she failed to escape. She was overcome with joy and passion in the arms of her lover and spouse.

"Well, I never..." began Amanda.

"Lady, you've never been through what they have," snapped Finn Challenger. "Give it a rest. They'll dress in a minute. Or three or four. Hell, Marguerite may need longer. She likes to take her time and do things right. She's lazy, anyway."

Despite herself, Lady Musgrave laughed. She was rewarded by Finn's wide urchin grin, which she found to be so delightful. She was beginning to be glad that she had met these people, so open and happy in their loves and their lives. She felt almost a new woman for knowing them.

In time, Diana "came up for air", as Amanda had phrased it, and whispered into her man's ear, "Oh, Stuart! You may not wish to kiss me again. I have done some awful things, and had others done to me. I am still a virgin, because that made me more valuable to sell. But I have been made to do everything else short of being taken fully by a man. I am so ashamed." She had had this foremost on her mind the whole time that she had been running from her captors, and blurted it out far sooner than she had meant to. Now, she trembled. Should she have said nothing, hoping that he would not guess? She was faint from fright over how Hamilton might react to the details of her captivity.

"Why?" he asked. "Are you afraid that I might not marry you now?"

She shook in her boots, stress making her more afraid than she had been since the visit of the lions. She managed to nod. "If you now see me as spoiled goods, I will understand. But you have a right to know what I have become, what I was made to do. I am so sorry, but Marguerite and I and poor Veronica had no choice in what was done to us. Poor Vee was even whipped, and made to dance like an Arab girl!"

"Perhaps I should not marry you in three months, after all." he admitted. He chuckled at her expression, and kissed her again, running his hands possessively down her back and bottom, to her father's embarrassment and growing anger.

He released her lips and told her, "Maybe I should marry you as fast as we can conclude this sordid little adventure and find a vicar. But you'd better put on some clothes first. Vicars are easily shocked, you know."

She laughed wildly in relief, and said, "Stuart, if there was a church here, I'd marry you right now. I want you to hold me like this forever!"

"Now see here, Hamilton, you can't just handle my daughter that way, naked in public!" Hardy felt compelled to intervene.

"Oh, hush, Daddy," laughed Diana. "I don't care if he handles me this way in Trafalgar Square. I want the world to know how much I want to be his woman! Anyway, I'm not naked. I've got my boots on!"

Finn laughed at that and smacked Marguerite on the butt. "Hey, lady! Come up for air. I don't want to have to perform mouth-to-mouth respiration on you."

Marguerite released Roxton just long enough to reply, "John is doing that nicely, Nicole. Go get your own man. He's around here somewhere." And she and her husband were again lip-locked, hands roaming all over each other. Mainly, she squeezed his shoulders and ribs. We will not mention where all he squeezed her, although her frontal appendages were crushed against his chest, so she had no fear of him fondling her in public in that region. But she meant to make up for that as soon as they had some privacy.

Challenger cleared his throat. "John, Marguerite, Finn has a point, and the other men are driving over. Perhaps it would be best to get dressed, regardless of who is engaged and who is married."

"You tell 'em, Lover," teased his wife, digging him lightly in the ribs with her elbow. She was still grinning that impish grin, and Challenger smiled and hugged her.

Marguerite pushed John lightly away from her and said, "Finny, damn it! When we got away from Avery Burton, you actually ran and jumped onto George and wrapped your legs around him and carried on worse than I am doing!" (See, "A Night in the Lost World.")

"Yeah," retorted her friend, "but I had clothes on by then. I didn't attack George naked until we were back in our room in the Treehouse."

"Who's Avery Burton?" asked Lady Musgrave.

"He's dead now, in South America. I put a bullet into him for what he did to Marguerite and me. But that's a good campfire story, for later."

Finn knew that the time for gushy reunions was ending, and she wanted clothes on her friend by the time the other men arrived. That stuffy District Commissioner might cite Marguerite and Diana for public nudity or lewdness or something. Besides, for all of her earthiness and a bit of a tendency to like men looking at her, Finn was a conventional woman in some ways. She knew how embarrassed Marguerite would be about this scene after her ardor had cooled and she saw men staring at her.

Then, Marguerite looked over Roxton's shoulder and saw Ned Malone approaching, an anxious look on his face.

"Oh, damn, John. I shall have to tell Neddy that we had to leave Vee behind. Those swine have still got her. Stall him while I dress and try to think of what to say to him." And she eased herself reluctantly out of her husband's arms and motioned to Lady Musgrave to hand her some clothing.

It was no good trying to dress, balancing on one another in the field, so the girls walked over to a car and sat down.

Poor Diana was helpless, although Finn helped her into a borrowed pair of leopard print bikini panties owned by Veronica, who was about the same size. She was a little thinner than Vee, but the panties were a slightly better fit than Finn's or Marguerite's undergarments would be. Truth be told, all four women could wear one another's clothes in a pinch, except that Veronica wore bras too large for the others.

Marguerite glanced over at the clothing and saw that Finn had brought one pair of black string-sided panties and two leopard print ones, and made a sarcastic remark about how Finn must have selected the lingerie.

"Yeah, well, I did. I knew where it was, and I wanted stuff that would make you girls feel desirable and feminine, after what you'd probably been through. If I ever get kidnapped again, bring me some sexy undies. It'll make my day. Hey: who's going to get these cuffs off of poor Diana?" Finn was trying to avoid making an admission.

"We can't seem to find anyone who has keys," said Roxton. "No one here carries handcuffs. And those she has on are the American style. When the police arrive, they may only have keys for the British Darby sort. But Mr. Hardy has gone to see if he has a bolt cutter in his truck."

"Gad, don't resort to that," muttered Finn. "Let me get my purse."

She rummaged under the seat of the car, opened her purse, and produced a key that did in fact open the cuffs.

"They may need the bolt cutters for that lock or the waist chain, though," she admitted. "Di, put on some pants or a skirt, and a shirt. You can lift the top to let your dad cut the chain."

Diana and Lady Musgrave were looking at Mrs. Challenger oddly, as Diana massaged her tired, long constricted arms.

"How did you manage to have a key for these, Finn?" asked Hamilton, who was hovering near his fiancée.

"Oh, Finn has carried a spare key since we lost one in the lab as I was inventing a new style of handcuff lock," chimed in Challenger. He was a bit red in the face, hoping that Marguerite wouldn't tell everyone of Finn's considerable interest in playing bedroom games in which her husband handcuffed or tied her. While in Burton's clutches, she had become aroused by such things, although she wanted to do them only with her mate, not with a kidnapper who she genunely feared.

Finn was blushing worse than her man, and everyone sensed that Challenger's explanation was at best a diplomatic one. Roxton winked at Finn, trying to suppress a smile. Finn absolutely glowed scarlet, and Marguerite began laughing.

She stepped over and embraced Finn. "Thanks for having that," she said. "I hoped that you would. Diana, wear that long taupe skirt of mine. You'll look terrific in it. And, here."

She handed Diana the Luger in its holster. "You should be armed, and you say that you can shoot one of these. It has a loaded magazine, and the chamber is empty. The spare magazine in the pouch on the holster is loaded, sixteen shots in all. Aim well, if we get into a fight. Look, has anyone got any food at all? Di and I are starving!"

"Ah, Darling, lets' get the ladies some sandwiches." Challenger was eager to change the focus from that embarrassing handcuff key. "Really, we'd better all eat. It's just past noon, anyway."

Hardy came over and used his bolt cutters to snip a link in the chain around his daughter's waist, and Diana kissed him and finished dressing.

"Has someone got a knife with a fine point on it?" she wondered. "I shall have to make a new hole or two to get this gun belt to stay on me." The dead Arabs, of course, had had wider waists than the svelte women.

Marguerite walked over to help Challenger serve lunch. "Finny, get over there with your little red Swiss pocketknife with the awl, and punch some holes in that belt for Diana." She handed her the belt for the Webley. "While you're at it, make this belt fasten tight enough for me to wear. Take into account that I need to be able to tuck this _jambiya_ into the belt sometimes, though. That damned Juma is wearing my Smith & Wesson. I'm looking forward to taking it off of his body later today."

"Now, see here, Lady Roxton: we can't have that sort of talk. I'll deputize all of you, but we have the rule of British Law here. This isn't the American West or your primitive Brazilian jungle, where you shoot whom you please." The DC wondered just how angry Marguerite was, and if he ought to let her get within shooting range of the slavers.

"I'll be a good girl," Marguerite quipped. "I'll shout, 'surrender, you cowardly Wog son of a bitch.' Then, when I see that he intends to resist, I'll shoot him. Simple? It solves the entire problem."

Lady Musgrave was amused, in spite of herself. These people really were rather fun to know. "And how, Marguerite, do you know for sure that he'll resist?"

"Easy," said that lady. "I'm clairvoyant. After the way that he fondled me and scared me half out of my own skin, I don't even need to check my crystal ball to know his intentions. He had very busy hands on Diana and Veronica, too. And he had Vee WHIPPED! Di, do you want to shoot Ahmed first? We can take turns, shooting that pair of jackals."

"That's it!" said Musgrave. "Mr. Hardy, would you like to take these ladies and my wife and Mrs. Challenger to your home until this is over? They've all been in quite enough danger."

"No, Daddy! Please! We girls have been through the wringer because of those fellows, and I demand to see them captured. Anyway, the police aren't here, and we need to be off to save Mrs. Malone as soon as we eat. You'll need us. I can shoot, and I promise that I'll keep an eye on Calamity Jane here." She jabbed a thumb at Marguerite. "She'll be good, and we won't shoot anyone that we don't have to. Honest! RIGHT, Marguerite?" Diana gave her companion a firm look.

Lady Musgrave gave her husband a pointed stare. "John, may I see you aside for a moment?" She took his hand and led him away from the others.

Finn opened the leather punch blade on her Victorinox pocketknife, and tried the belt around Diana's waist. Then, she carefully and neatly bored three new holes in the belt, to allow it to fit a slimmer waist. She tried the other belt on her own waist, made a slight change to account for any difference between her and Marguerite, and bored more holes in the other belt, siting the new holes to let the belts fit the women whether they had the Arab daggers thrust in them or not.

"Here, Marguerite," she said. "One or the other of those holes will make that fit you now. If I'm wrong, I'll make another hole. But I'm almost never wrong. Just ask George."

Her husband chuckled. "Well, very seldom wrong. After all, you are worthy of being the bride of a truly brilliant, if immodest, scientific genius." He jerked her pageboy-styled hair affectionately.

Finn glowed, flashed that impish grin, and kissed him.

Musgrave saw, and the closeness and evident love that these safari clients shared impressed him. Moreover, he was by now tired of his wife's arguments against sending the women to Hardy's refuge. And it was quite true that he might need their help.

The Musgraves rejoined the others.

"Ahem," the DC cleared his throat. "In the manner of wives everywhere, my lady has convinced me that it might be best for you women to remain. And I rather like the idea of knowing that all's well with you, and that you are with us. Lady Roxton, if you can restrain your nervous trigger finger and limit it to LEGITIMATE use, you may remain."

Marguerite looked contrite. "Yes, Sir John. I am sorry to have been out of order. I promise to shoot only if I must. And if I do, I'll try really hard to shoot those bastards in the chest, and not blow off their balls!"

"Marguerite..."warned her mate.

"All right! I've said that I'll be good! John, would you like mustard on this? They seem to have the country Dijon sort here."

"We have," chimed in Diana. "I made that. Mum taught me how before she died. Daddy really likes it, as do most of our guests." She was glad to change the subject, for she wanted Marguerite with them. And in fact, she was quite proud of that homemade mustard.

"Mrs. Challenger, may I see your knife? Not the one on your belt; the pocket model." Hardy (and Blacklaws) was curious about it.

Finn passed it over and the men looked at it with great interest. "Sort of a basic Officer's knife, eh?" said Hardy. "But it is well made, and not a brand that I've seen." He rubbed a finger lightly over the silver Helvetian Cross inlaid in a red handle scale.

"I got it last year in Switzerland," said Finn. "It's the current version of one that I've had for years. I didn't want to wear it out or lose it, so I left it at home, and packed three of these. I bought a dozen, and stashed some around home and gave a few to friends. I'll send you one, or give you a spare when we leave for England, if you really like it. I have a couple of the larger, military-issue model in my footlocker, but this one is lighter in my pocket. And it has a corkscrew, which the issue model lacks." (Note: At that time, the Swiss issue knife had wooden handle scales and was somewhat larger than the red-handled Officers version. Many thanks to the Export Director at Victorinox for details and photos of their knives through the past century. If anyone wants a knife like the one that Finn brought from the 21st Century and has used in several of my Fics, it is their Camper model. One is in my pocket as this is typed, and I sometimes use every tool on it, including the saw.)

The men all admired the versatile knife, showed their own, and the subject of the women leaving was over, to everyone's relief.

But Ned Malone sat off a little by himself, looking stressed and forlorn. Finn took him a roast beef sandwich and some potato salad, made in the German manner, with a cold Tusker beer. "Here, Ned. Don't worry. We'll get her back." She kissed his cheek and squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.

He nodded and tried to smile. He failed, and bit into the sandwich. It was excellent. So, at least something was going well. And Roxton had his woman back, as did Hamilton. Ned couldn't help wondering whether Marguerite and Diana couldn't have freed Veronica, too. Marguerite used to have a habit of looking out mainly for herself... But he finally decided that she was probably telling the truth in the account that he overheard her giving as they ate.

After she had finished her story, she came over and talked quietly to Ned, hugging him as she finished. The stricken look in her eyes got to Malone, and he knew in his heart that Marguerite was suffering almost as much as he was over the missing woman.

He resolved to get Veronica back, if it was the last thing that he did. He amended that: it was going to be the first thing that he did, right after lunch. And he made a mental note of those names that the ladies had mentioned. Khalid and Ahmed. If no one was watching and he had the chance, they were going to be two dead Arabs!And that traitor Juma was also going to Hell if Ned could manage it without facing a murder charge.

Following the quick lunch, they packed up and rushed to where the escaped women said they had last seen the slavers' caravan.

Challenger consulted the map with a misgiving feeling. Sure enough, when they arrived at the camp of the enemy, they gone further up the canyon than realized. The cars being unable to get down into the canyon, as relatively shallow as it was, they patrolled parallel to it, driving around brush and trees as needed.

Finally, Challenger spied the outcropping that he meant to blow up, and Roxton, Blacklaws, and the Wanderobo tracker went down the steep slope into the canyon. They were soon back, announcing that there was no point to setting off an explosion: the caravan had already passed that point.

Furious and desperate, the convoy of cars and trucks went ahead as quickly as they dared. This was no place to break an axle, or to have a flat tire.

Eventually, the canyon sloped upward and disappeared as it rose to meet the surrounding terrain. Now, they could move faster, although they had to be careful not to be detected if they closed too rapidly on the pursued. If they met the caravan before the police dispatched by Musgrave arrived, they would be badly outnumbered and outgunned. Nor could they be sure that Thorne's troop of cavalry from the King's African Rifles had successfully gotten aboard a train, then down into the canyon to follow the tracks of the slavers. It might be several hours before they came into sight, if the train had even arrived.

Periodically, the search team got out of the vehicles and examined the trail. Suddenly, Roxton, who was leaning out one side of his car to see the tracks they were following, called a halt.

He and the others examined the trail, working it back and forth. They soon realized that the greater body of the caravan had left the trail here and had gone on a southeasterly course toward the coast. For some reason, a smaller group had pressed on, headed more toward the road in the distance. That led back toward the highway to Nairobi!

They got out the map and the aerial photos, trying to see why this route would appeal to anyone. All that was on the way, apart from native villages, was an Indian-run dukka some 30 miles distant.

"Wait a minute!" said Musgrave. "I think I know who runs that store. Geoff, Stuart, you men operate safaris along this route. Do you ever stop for supplies there?"

They did, and described the owner and his brother, mentioning that they tried to avoid stopping there. "Their prices are outrageous for what they have, but there's no one else nearby. But they do have to truck it all out from Nairobi, so I suppose that expense has to be figured into the bargain." Blacklaws was unenthusiastic about the store.

"Yes, well, I have heard some unsavory rumors about that storekeeper, and I happen to know that he lives in Nairobi. It's a Goan named Rangaswamy. Has other business interests there. And he probably knows this fellow Khalid, whom Marguerite and Diana described. I'm almost sure that I know who he is. He runs a hotel and a couple of shops in town, and is one of the largest used automobile dealers." Musgrave was recalling quite a lot now.

"If this Khalid is the man I think he is, he will be frantic to escape with what he can before the ladies reach us and the police. If the women see and identify him, he's going to hang or go away to prison for a very long time. He may be trying to get to Nairobi and then to the coast. Only by going to Amarrah will he probably be able to avoid British extradition long enough for the law to more or less forget him. He'll take ship, himself, not just send the girls he has. He'll clean out his bank account, I'll wager. And he may well be doing business with this Indian fellow who owns that dukka, whom I suspect of trafficking in poached ivory. He may very well ship some slaves from there, too. If the poachers come down from out of the north and have to fence their ivory, he'd be just the lad to do it, for a price. And he'd have the connections that poacher might not, to get the loot aboard a ship in Malindi or Mombasa or into some obscure little inlet, where a dhow can sail in and slip away without causing any stir."

Well, look," said Ned Malone. "while we're standing here figuring all of this out, SOMEONE has got my wife and is planning to ship her to that Sultan who wants to pay for her. My wife! The mother of our children! What are we going to do about that? Huh?" He was getting very distressed.

Roxton walked over and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There, Ned, we're doing the best that we can. The police will be along soon, and we'll have more options."

Challenger said "It seems to me, Musgrave, that this fellow Khalid would want to keep Veronica with him, even if he sends the black girls and the ivory on via this separate route, headed directly to the coast. Veronica is all he has left of the three white girls, and she'd be a suitable hostage if the police find him. Moreover, he promised the Sultan three women. He wants to deliver at least one, and she is quite valuable to him. Would he send her with the others? I think she's still with him, and possibly, a lesser amount of the ivory. But he can't afford to be burdened with most of that heavy ivory, or with very many of the African girls."

"I think that George is right," mused Marguerite. "Diana, what is your sense of this? We saw something of Khalid's nature while he held us. I think he'd want Vee next to him, if only to be sure that his cronies didn't steal her and sell her, themselves. She's blonde, good looking, and those bastards, many of them, have seen her dance. She's very sensual; moves like an houri from their wildest dreams. They might rape her, in spite of their instructions, if he wasn't there. He was told by the Sultan to deliver us unused, as he so charmingly put it."

Diana Hardy brushed a speck of dust off of her borrowed skirt. She liked how it fit, being almost her waist size, if slightly higher on her legs than on the shorter Marguerite. She looked at Hamilton and her father. "Daddy, Stuart, I'm going to say something. It may upset both of you, but it needs saying. Please don't interrupt. If you want to know more, later, I'll tell you, in private, as family."

She continued. "Marguerite asked my opinion. I will tell all of you what I think. The reason why I am wearing borrowed clothes now is that I stood in chains in front of that man and watched him burn my own clothing, item by item. Right down to my knickers. As each bit was consumed in the flames of his campfire, he looked into my face and smirked. He grinned as he told me that I was now a naked slave, who must not entertain ideas that I was anything more than a girl destined for the seraglio of my future master. That I must see my freedom to be as surely gone as were my clothes. He enjoyed that. He enjoyed seeing me naked, and he enjoyed seeing my terror.

"He likes white women, but he hates us, too, for we are white, and he is not. That affects how he thinks, I believe. He did see Veronica dance, and I'm sure that Marguerite, who taught her, knows what she says when she describes how she can move. Mr. Malone - Ned- I am so sorry to have you hear this, but your wife is a beautiful woman. You know how other men must want her, as you yourself prize her? Well, Khalid would not want her far from his sight, his grasp. He is allowed to do anything he likes to her, short of actually penetrating her. And he has, and he will."

Diana blushed, and looked shamed as she said this. Finn took her hand and gave her a sympathetic look that expressed all of her feelings and her sisterhood. Finn had herself trained as a slave of the late Avery Burton, and knew what this Kenya girl must feel just now.

Diana looked at her and, as if on signal, both women hugged each other and began crying.

The men looked as if they were fish out of water, wanting to help, but fearing that they would make matters worse if they spoke.

Amanda Musgrave looked at Lady Roxton and said, "Countess, I think we should make tea and let these girls rest for a moment before Miss Hardy continues. Do you feel up to helping? I want a word with you, anyway."

Marguerite nodded. She patted Finn on the back as she passed and joined Amanda out of hearing of the men. She called back, "John, will you boys gather some firewood? Tea actually seems a really good idea just now, and perhaps we shall see the soldiers by the time we've drunk it."

"Won't the crooks see the smoke and get wise to us?" Ned Malone looked disgusted and derisive. He liked his friends, but only these damned Limeys would insist on their beloved tea, while his woman was being manhandled or worse, by uncivilized thugs!

"I shouldn't worry too much, Mr. Malone," said Angus Hardy. "They'll hardly think that any pursuers would stop and make a cook fire. If they see any smoke, they'll fancy that it's a party of Africans. We aren't as stupid as we may seem, to your superior American intellect." He looked a bit put out.

Blacklaws said, "Calm down, Angus. Ned has good cause for worry. If this was my wife involved, I'd be a bit put out, myself, but tea will do us all good, and help us to think well."

Finn led Diana over and helped her to sit in a car. She asked Ned and Challenger to join them. "We'll keep each other emotionally together here if you guys will make the tea," she offered. "Diana, my husband will help you heal if you can talk to him. You wouldn't believe what he has gotten me through. I love him to death, and Ned needs us now, too. Can we be strong for him?"

Diana nodded, wiping away tears. "I'm sorry, Mr. Malone. What happened to me and to the other girls nearly shattered me. Stuart and Daddy are going to have to be creative and patient to get me back to normal. But I'll make it. I'm not letting that sodding Arab bastard ruin my soul. Poor Marguerite told us some of what she endured in the hands of that earlier Sultan, and I don't see how she held on to herself. But if she did, I can. I'm a Hardy, and it takes more than this to break me." She sniffled, and held Finn's hand again.

Malone looked baffled. "Marguerite," he called. "Did this guy kidnap you before? When?"

"Never mind, Ned. We'll tell you later. But it was like, 18 years ago, and it was the Sultan's father. Marguerite told us girls one night when we were about to dance in the Treehouse. Vee and I made her tell us where she'd learned to move like she does." Finn wanted to spare Marguerite the need to embarrass herself in front of the other people present. (See the Mature fic, "A Prisoner of the Sultan" for that story.)

Malone swung on Challenger and Roxton. "Did you guys know about this?"

Roxton looked down with a touch of embarrassment and nodded. Challenger said, "Well, perhaps, I may have heard a little of it..."

Malone glared at both of them and at Finn. "My wife knew this. My best male friends knew this. Finn knew this. But I didn't know this?"

"Ned, please leave it," called Marguerite. "I apologize most sincerely, but it is intensely embarrassing, and only the girls and I knew, until they convinced me to tell John. My lover and now, my husband. Finn told George with my permission, later, so that he could help her, and me, to get over it. I swear that I'll tell you, too, but not just now, please."

"It's all right now, Finn," sad Diana. "I agree with Marguerite. Veronica is with that smaller party, with Khalid. He wouldn't trust anyone else to go off by themselves like that, and he wouldn't leave his prize slave with his men. She almost has to be headed to that dukka or to some other rendezvous. With him and, probably, his cousin Ahmed, may a camel piss on the pair of them!" She snickered, and Finn grinned and squeezed her hand. They would get through this yet.

The tea was soon ready, and everyone was enjoying it. Hamilton came to stand near Diana. They looked at one other often, and in time, they began to smile at each other. An embarrassed glow spread over Diana's features and she sat very close to Hamilton, their hands often touching.

Lady Roxton drifted over to her man, and Hardy joined them. "Marguerite, how much do you suppose that rascal was going to get for you ladies? Did he happen to say what your lives and your bodies were worth? I can't help wondering."

Marguerite looked at him. Well, the man's daughter had been kidnapped. It was an honest question, and he had probably been beside himself with worry. "Diana and Veronica were to go for 10,000 pounds each. I was a little more valuable, due to a past grudge. That's more than any of us would usually be worth, I'm sure, but he probably wanted to show off his wealth. And, to get me, he likely had to offer a premium for the other two."

Hardy nodded. "Just wondering. Ten thousand pounds, eh? I need to renegotiate my deal with Stuart. I was prepared to give away my daughter in marriage. I should have driven a harder bargain. Of course, to me, Diana is priceless. Well, I look forward to meeting Mr. Khalid. I may very well help you to shoot him."

Blacklaws saw dust in the distance, about where the canyon merged with higher ground. He raised his binocular. It was the KAR troop, led by Capt. Thorne. "I say," he announced. "I hate to sound as if I'm narrating an American Western film, but the cavalry has arrived!"

The soldiers saw the vehicles, and soon trotted up. They dismounted for a drink and a chance to wander into the bush to relieve themselves. The two officers joined the other whites for tea.

Musgrave showed Thorne and his lieutenant, Giles Featherstonehaugh, where he wanted them to go. The map and the trail from where they sat made it clear where the slavers had gone. Victory for a column of well- armed men should just be a matter of catching up to them.

"That pass back there will accommodate my horses, side-by-side. It took their loaded camels, with room to spare." Thorne was certain that he could have his hundred-man troop after the slavers as soon as they'd cleared the pass and gotten out onto the broad savannah beyond.

"Those bastards have a Lewis gun as well as their personal weapons," warned Marguerite. "Don't get ambushed. They can be very dangerous."

Thorne nodded. "I'll keep that in mind, Lady Roxton. We also have a Lewis, and my men know how to employ it to good effect. And my riflemen are probably better trained than the slavers. We have ample ammunition. I think we'll soon have them in the bag, with those black girls and the ivory. We can use their own chains on them. Shall we bring them to your headquarters, Sir John?"

"Yes. We'll begin there, and have the police take them away, after I question them. Take care, Craig. I hope to see you soon on a more social occasion." The DC stood and offered his hand to the two officers. The lieutenant went to mount the men as the captain finished his tea and talked with Musgrave and his entourage.

"How do you suppose that the lieutenant spells his last name?" asked Marguerite. She looked directly at Malone, but the question was open to all.

"Oh, I know this! He visits Daddy and me quite often, and he showed me!" Diana was delighted to have something light to ease her day.

"F-a-n-s-h-a-w, what else," guessed Ned, who had been introduced to the officer. That was how his name sounded. The others shrugged and concurred.

"Nope. Look here." Marguerite wrote out the correct spelling and passed the sheet of paper around to chuckles from some and blank looks from others.

"You tea sippers never cease to amaze me," muttered the American author and journalist. "If that guy ever moves to the States, the immigration people will go nuts over that."

In the background, they heard the orders of the officers as the soldiers prepared to leave.

"TROOP! Stand to horse! Prepare to mount! Ready, MOUNT!"

Capt. Thorne trotted over and shook hands goodbye with Roxton and Hardy, waved to the others, and took his place at the head of his men.

He turned and called, "TROOP! Column of twos by the right. Quick MARCH!"

And the soldiers moved off, their saddles and other gear making the noises associated with a large number of men on horseback. Fortunately, there was little clanking.

Shortly after, as they exited the mountain pass and formed up on the plain beyond, they heard the trumpeter sound, "Trot" and the cavalry were off after the slavers.

"I hope they shoot the whole bloody lot of them," said Marguerite, and Diana nodded enthusiastically.

"It would seem like a public service," agreed Lord Roxton. "Rather like having the exterminator in if your castle has rats."

"I wouldn't know," joked Ned Malone. "Veronica and I don't live in a castle. But I did kill a boa constrictor in the living room of the Treehouse the week before we left for England."

CHAPTER NINETEEN

They made ready to leave, cleaning up and being sure that everyone had ammunition for their personal weapons. The safari members who had been out hunting when the slavers struck hadn't taken a great deal with them, only a few boxes. Ned was limited to the cartridges in his wife's Colt .32, but Roxton was also wearing a Colt .45 automatic, and shared 20 cartridges with Ned for his .45.

"Use them sparingly, but well," he cautioned.

Hardy and Musgrave had .455's, Hardy a Wilkinson-Webley (1911 version) and Musgrave a Smith & Wesson that he had carried in the late war. They each gave Marguerite six rounds for her captured Webley. "But don't get into a situation where you have to fire that gun, if possible," warned the DC. "I don't want you women in any more danger than absolutely need be. And Lady Roxton, remember what I said about shooting this Khalid fellow and that man Ahmed. Let the law deal with them."

Marguerite nodded, looking down a bit to hide her pique. She would have been delighted to kill both men. Like her husband had said, it would be a public service to do so.

She wore a brown Australian Akubra brand hat like she had worn in the Amazon, with a white shirt and tan riding breeches. Her taller boots, needed to go right with the breeches, had been brought by Finn, who knew the difference in ladies' boots. She wore similar ones, herself, feeling rather glamorous and dashing in that outfit.

Marguerite thrust the slimmer of the Arab daggers into her belt, in its embossed silver sheath, and handed the other to Diana Hardy.

"Here," she said. "Keep that and the Luger, Diana. You deserve souvenirs of this awful experience. I'll probably give Roxton this knife later, for his collection. You know boys and their toys. He's easily amused." She hugged her husband, who laughed.

"I need amusement to be married to Marguerite," he teased. "It makes up for the arguments." He tipped up her chin and kissed her lips, stopping her raunchy reply before it began.

"Let's'get this show on the road," pleaded Malone. "Those villains may be raping Veronica as we speak."

Miles ahead, Khalid and his men stopped for tea, also, confident that they were well ahead of any pursuers. They were still puzzled by who had taken the missing women, but had seen no sign of any foe.

"The sultan will not be pleased, especially when we have to tell him that we have no idea of how the girls vanished, leaving two of us dead," Ahmed was glum. "He will think that we sold them elsewhere."

"Perhaps," conceded Khalid. "Although who would have paid more, especially for Marguerite, I cannot guess. She is pretty, but in her late thirties, and not exceptional, as women go. She is crafty, but that will hardly add to her price. It just makes her more risky to own. No, we would not get as much for them elsewhere as he would have paid. I hope that he will still give a good price for Veronica. If not, I know others who surely will buy her, but for less. Still, she will bring a good fee.

"But, cousin," he continued. "I have become uneasy. The friends of this girl will by now probably have the police hot on our trail, and if they pursue our smaller group on this path, it will surely lead them to the dukka of our Indian friends. They know far too much about us. They cannot implicate us without revealing their own complicity, but with those girls loose somewhere, I fear that the British may persuade them to talk. I wonder if we should silence them when we leave the dukka."

"It is wise to do so," confirmed Ahmed. "And we may find it unwise to go to Nairobi. If the police know who you are, they will raid your businesses there and block your bank account. I think we should get the remaining girls at the dukka, kill the Indians, and leave directly for the coast. We should avoid returning to Nairobi until we can assess what damage has been done. I will feel far safer once we are at sea, en route for Amarrah."

Khalid concurred. "Then, let us kill them and burn the store, after taking the money and what goods we need. That will destroy most evidence. Even if the police guess who did it, proving that in a court of their law may be difficult. Unless they catch us with the girls, they will have nothing beyond what Marguerite and Diana tell them. And there are many Arabs who look like us."

"Do not be too sure," Ahmed retorted. "If they put us in a lineup, those women will surely pick us out. I think you are right: we need to get out of Kenya for awhile. Maybe we should even get rid of the girls. We can burn them in the store, although it might be more fun to bury them alive, out in the bush."

Khalid smiled grimly. "I think not just yet, cousin. If we are pressed, we can kill them later. Or, they may be useful hostages. I think that after we are well clear of the store, we can reach friends near Malindi who can arrange for our transport to Amarrah with our lovely cargo. We will need the money from their sale, for we will not get a great deal from that store. If I know the owner as well as I think I do, his funds will be well hidden."

"We can sell the guns that we do not need," suggested Ahmed. "Those are all expensive items, and there are men on that coast who will pay well for them. Or, some will pay more in Amarrah. The Sultan, even, for those guns are as fine as can be had. Even he would like to get them for a good price. And we have the jewels and money from the safari camp."

"Hey!" called Veronica. "May I have some of that tea?" Not speaking Arabic, she had no idea what they had been discussing.

Khalid agreed, to her surprise. "But your hands will remain tied, Mrs. Malone. I do not wish to have tea thrown in my face while you grab for my gun. Your friend Marguerite is not the only enterprising slave, I fear. Soon, you will be terrified to even think of doing such a thing to a man, but you are not yet broken. By this time next year, you will be fully submissive, I think. But for now, I do not trust you."

"I don't care if you trust me or not, if I get the tea," she said wearily. "And I'll do what you want. I don't want to feel that whip again any more than I have to. Are any other white girls going to be on that slave ship?"

"Such things are none of your business!" snapped Ahmed. "You will be told what we wish you to know, when we wish you to know it. No more, slave!"

Khalid was more open. "Cousin, let her know. Veronica, we will soon pick up two more white girls. Each of you will strive to be the most pleasing. I think you may do the best. I certainly think your dancing will be the best. You must show them what to do. If you do not, you will all be punished. But if you try, you will be well treated. And you are married. You will be better at some other things than they will. I will have them watch as you please me. Do well, and you may be given candies and fruit. Defy me, and you will feel the lash and other hardships, and so will they. Am I understood?"

"Yes, Master. I will strive to please. I want to be the best slave that you have sold. I may as well get used to the idea that I'm just a piece of female property now. I want to do the best that I can within the range of what I can hope for. I don't want the Sultan mad at me because Marguerite and Diana got away. Maybe if he thinks I'm hot enough, he won't take their escape out on me." She hoped that she sounded believable, for that might give her a chance that would be denied her, otherwise. And, if all failed, she planned to do what Marguerite had years ago: become a favorite girl, and see what opportunity might come, in time. If Marguerite got away, maybe she could.

Khalid made her kneel at his feet and drink her tea from his cup. Then, he made her pay for it with a certain service which he found amusing to compel of a pretty blonde white girl. She was forced to please him while the others watched and cheered and called her names that shamed her. She blushed, but some of her color was from suppressed rage. If she saw a chance to kill Khalid and the others, she would. But that was unlikely.

She cried as she serviced her captor, and as they placed her again in the hammock dangling from the back of a camel. I can't believe this is happening to me, she wept. A slave girl and doing that to get a cup of tea. Oh, how will I ever face Ned again? Not that I'll likely have the chance to beg for his understanding...

Susan Wilson and Holly Delaterre felt the truck stop. Nothing happened for a while, save that the back door opened, and the men with them chatted in Hindi with whoever was outside.

Finally, their feet were untied, and they were made to exercise their legs to restore full circulation until they could walk. Then they were hobbled and each was led down a ramp that had been run out of the bed of the truck. On the ground, they were taken indoors. They barely sensed that, for their gags, blindfolds, and hoods remained in place. But there was a sense of being within enclosed walls, and the breeze that they had felt on their nude bodies ceased as they were herded indoors and taken to a room in the back of the dukka.

The store had just closed for the night, it being late afternoon. No customers had come for an hour or more, anyway. Few people would travel the roads here as darkness fell.

The hoods and other impediments to their seeing and hearing were now removed, and as they struggled to regain normal sight, each was given water. Holly was untied and allowed to exercise her cramped arms.

Being the bolder of the two, she demanded, "Who are you men and where have we been taken? Why? This is a serious crime, and I demand to be freed! If not, you will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

The Indian man looking back at her smiled. "Oh, truly, we fear that you shall be arresting us and putting the long arm of your English law upon us. Not! Miss Delaterre, you are a prisoner, destined to be sold in Arabia as a slave, and you had better begin to conduct yourself as such. From this time on, address me and any other man in charge of you as Master. Failure to do so will be punished. You understand?"

"I most certainly do not!" She slapped him so quickly that he had no chance to flinch back. "Do you know who my father is, you filthy Wog? You will be lucky not to hang for this outrage! Release us now in Nairobi and return our clothing and I may ask for mercy on your behalf."

The man, whose name was Gupta Vishnarabad, was furious. "Seize her!" he snarled. Two men leapt to hold Holly's arms.

Gupta had her wrists bound, crossed, then suspended from a ring in the ceiling. "Wait there, Holly, my dear," he said gallantly. "I have a small surprise for you in a moment. First, your friend will be untied and watered, then chained before I demonstrate my reaction to your outburst."

Susan was terrified, and offered no resistance as she was unbound, allowed to exercise a bit, and then watered. Then, her wrists were locked behind her as Diana's had been, and locked to the slim steel chain that they fastened around her waist. Her ankles were hobbled with chains that allowed about six inches between them. She could stand, but not really walk. She was then half carried to the back of the room and made to kneel, facing Holly.

"Behold, Miss Wilson," said a second man. "Let this be an object lesson to you. You will both later be whipped with the full slave whip several times during your voyage to your new home. Tonight, our little room is a bit cramped for that. However, we have this item." He showed the girls a whip with five broad leather blades about five feet long.

He held it up to Holly and asked her how many blades it had. "Five, you imbecile!" she snapped. "Can't you bloody count?" But she didn't feel as confident as she pretended. These men were not showing her the deference that those of their kind had since she was a small child.

"Five it is, young white lady," he confirmed. "And you are about to feel the impact of each of them until you have screamed enough that I am satisfied that reality has arrived for you. Spread your legs, widely. Or, we will tie them open."

Hesitantly, Holly spread her feet, only to have them pulled open wider by the second man.

"When you are told to spread your legs, girl, do it in a meaningful way. That applies whether you are being whipped, or being used for another purpose." The men laughed, and Holly blushed scarlet all over.

"If you close your legs, Holly, the whipping will begin all over. I suggest that you spread as widely as you can and hold the pose. You will receive ten lashes if you scream convincingly and beg for it to end. If you need more strokes, to say, 'Master, I beg mercy!' you will receive as many strokes as it takes to get those words from you. If you faint, you will be revived and we will begin anew. You must learn a vital lesson tonight, before we turn you over to those who will convey you to the coast."

She looked defiantly at him, and he grinned. "You think you are bold, slave girl, but I have seen many such as you. You will break and beg to please men. This is the first of the lessons that will teach you your new place in the world."

He backed up and raised the whip. Susan gasped with horror and fear. Good! thought the slaver. Her fear will communicate itself to the bolder girl, and help to frighten her, too.

He gave Holly the ten strokes, waiting a few seconds to a full minute between lashes. By the seventh stroke, she was sobbing so badly that she could barely manage to say the words that he had demanded from her. By the tenth stroke, she was screaming and bawled, "Master, I beg mercy!"

He made her repeat that three times, each more desperately and beseechingly than the first. Then, because she had danced from one foot to another at times as she writhed in pain, he had her spread her legs widely once more, and delivered two additional strokes.

Finally, he said. "Very well, slut. Hang in your bonds for a time. My friends and I shall retire to another room to drink tea and discuss your transport. When we return, Susan will take your place and feel the lash. Then, you two will be fed and settled down to wait until it is time to pass you on to those who will take you to a slave ship later tonight."

"I don't need to be whipped," pleaded Susan. "I will be good, I swear that I will!" She was shocked and scared by what Holly had endured.

Gupta leered at her. He walked over. "Are you are an obedient girl?"

"Yes," stammered Susan. "I will do as you demand." She flushed crimson all over her body, feeling shame and fear to her bones. She had never felt so ashamed and frightened in her life. She tried to stop shivering, wanting to appear braver in front of Holly, but knew that she would scream sooner than the brunette slave had done.

Gupta wrote down some words on a white card and held it before her. "Then, obedient girl, read these words aloud. Be sure that everyone present hears each syllable." He held out the card to her.

She whimpered, but did as ordered. "Please whip me, Master. I do not want Holly to be the only girl who gets to feel your lash tonight, lest I be jealous of your attentions to her." She looked at him, terror in her eyes.

"I will shortly grant your wish, Susan, my little pretty. Try not to become impatient. You will feel my leather soon enough."

They chained the girl's hobbled feet to a ring in the floor and left, leaving the light on.

Holly sniffled and whimpered, ashamed to look at Susan. The other girl asked softly, "Does that hurt as much as it looks like it does?"

"Yes," Holly managed. "Susan - that's your name, isn't it? - you have a real treat coming. And you deserve it, for trying to whine your way out of it! If we get out of this, I plan to let my father know what a brave little blonde teller he hired."

"I can't help it," admitted Susan. "Trying to act brave to them will just make it worse for both of us. I think we'd better try not to upset them."

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Holly was angry, and ashamed that her bluff had been called by the Indians. She was Susan's social superior, and this had been a humbling experience. She had far rather have been whipped before men only than with another woman in the room. Susan sensed that.

"Well, do things your way, slave, and I'll do them mine. We'll see who has the roughest time. But I really think it won't be long before they have both of us doing just what they want. We'd be better off being friends, I think. Maybe we'll be sold to the same master. It would be sort of nice not to feel all alone, and look out for each other, to whatever degree we can."

Holly seethed, but thought it over. It wasn't like she was going to be the debutante of slave girls this season. She and Susan were in the same boat now. And there was no First Class or Second Class passage. Only Slave Girl Class...

"Very well, Susan. I'll be friends. You may be right. And I am more scared than I'm letting on. That damned whip hurts like fire. When it's your turn, beg early and often for it to end. Maybe they'll laugh, but they may also let you down sooner. And if it helps any, I'll be feeling this all over again when they whip you. If that other whip they mentioned is any worse than this, we're both going to be begging pretty fast to do whatever they want." She sobbed in spite of herself. "Oh, Susan: whatever will become of us?!"

"I don't know, Holly. But if we face it together, maybe it won't be so bad. I want you to know that I'm here for you. We'll talk when they let us. Just hang on. I'm sure that other girls have gone through worse. I hope..."

Holly realized that if Susan was more compliant than she was toward their captors, she was also compassionate, and a realist. And Holly did not want to face slavery alone. Besides, Susan was blonde. Maybe she could wheedle some favors from their masters. For the first time in her life, Holly saw a practical side in being friends with a blonde girl. Maybe they weren't all bad, after all...

CHAPTER TWENTY

Musgrave fidgeted, looking at his watch. "Those police should have met us here by now. That rock outcropping that Challenger wanted to blow should have been a good landmark. Perhaps they've been delayed. Mr. Malone is right: we need to get underway."

Roxton had an idea. "Used to be that if a white man had to leave a note for others, he'd put it in a cleft stick and pound that into the ground where someone might find it. It beats leaving without trying."

"Right you are, Lord Roxton...John." Musgrave felt foolish for not recalling that. He sent a gun bearer to cut a suitable stick and sat to write a note to the police column commander. When he was done, the stick was ready, and Hardy's shovel pounded it firmly into the ground, with the white paper of the letter evident to anyone who might pass this way.

"Well, that's that," said Marguerite. "We had better try to catch up to those rotters."

"Yes," said a grim-faced Ned Malone. "That would be really nice. If they've hurt Veronica..." He didn't have to complete the sentence. Everyone knew how he felt, what he meant. And they felt the same way.

Khalid and his men came to the dukka as the Indians drank tea and plotted. They tethered their camels and horses outside, and left one man to watch them and to keep a lookout for intruders.

The unsuspecting Indians welcomed them, sharing tea. Veronica was unloaded from the camel; her feet unbound, and made to walk into the room where the other girls were being held. She was blindfolded, that she not see where she was. After she was in the room, her blindfold was removed.

The women looked at one another in surprise. "Oh, wonderful, another blonde!", exclaimed Holly. But she was trying to be funny, and the other girls managed to smile. They needed that lift of spirits. Even Gupta and Khalid were amused.

Veronica's wrists, tied in front to her waist, were unbound and she was allowed to stretch her arms and take a cup of water before a waist chain and handcuffs like those worn by Susan were applied to her. Then, hobbled like the other blonde, she had her ankles chained to the floor, also.

Holly was untied, and when her tired arms had recovered from being suspended above her, she also got the waist chain and handcuffs treatment, before being chained between Veronica and Susan.

"We were just about to introduce pretty Susan to the five-bladed whip," announced Gupta. "Perhaps you would like to be the one who whips her? She needs to feel the lash, to begin to grasp her new position in life."

Khalid considered. "This is just a basic introductory whipping, not for reasons of discipline? If she has not misbehaved, let us have our tea, and then whip her at our leisure. You can then whip Veronica. I want each of these slaves to see the others whipped before they leave here. It will keep any of them from feeling superior to the others, and establish what they now are: slaves on the way to market."

Gupta shrugged. "Very well. It is true that the tea will cool if we do not drink it first. And the delay will let Veronica and Susan think how their time under the whip will feel." And so, the men withdrew, locking the door behind them.

Susan and Holly were eager to meet Veronica and to hear her story. When they learned that she was a safari client, kidnapped from her camp, Holly wanted to know who her white hunter was.

"We have two," the Anglo-Brazilian girl explained. "Geoff Blacklaws and Stuart Hamilton. They're both really handsome, and really nice. It wasn't their fault that I was taken, with the two other girls who escaped. Or were stolen by someone. We still don't know what happened. But my friend Marguerite told me to dance and do whatever else it took to keep Khalid and his henchmen busy, while she tried something. I just don't know what!"

"She wanted you to dance with them?" Susan was puzzled. "I'm surprised that these men can dance. And what did you do for music? They don't look like the sort of fellows who'd have a gramophone and waltz records with them!"

Veronica smiled wryly. "Susan, I didn't dance WITH them. I danced FOR them. I'm a slave girl. We dance a little differently than when waltzing with our own men. By the way, I was taught by my friend Marguerite, who escaped. She was a slave of this Sultan's father, years ago. My friend Finn, who wasn't in camp when the slavers came, taught me something weird called rock and roll dance, too. I do both, and men seem to like each. You can tell by the way they look at you. It does give a girl a feeling of power in a way, to be able to enchant them like that. Finn sort of gets off on it more than I do, but even I like the way they look at me. And the slavers use drums and cymbals for music. Maybe they'll have flutes, too, when we get to Amarrah. I felt really primal and totally female, being made to move to just those drums!"

Holly was horrified, if a little thrilled. "That sounds so exciting! But you mean, to dance like their Arab girls? I wouldn't know where to begin. Nor will Susan, I'm sure. We're decent white women!"

Veronica smiled wanly. "I was pretty decent, too, I thought. But after they whipped me, I was eager to perform for them. Maybe I'm naughty, anyway, though. I and my friends dance for our husbands sometimes, when the boys get lucky and catch us in the right mood. Then, I guess that we're sort of indecent." She laughed. "Actually, I think that my first pregnancy came right on the heels of one of those dance sessions in the jungle where I live."

After that, she had to tell how she was associated with the famous Challenger Expedition that had gone to South America to find dinosaurs, and had gotten stranded atop a huge plateau.

"I know both of your hunters," said Holly. "Geoff is really nice, although he has something of a playboy reputation. If I wasn't expecting my present beau to propose soon, I'd date him if he asked me. The girl who gets him to settle down with her will have a nice catch. And he's so dashing! I'm sure that he and Stuart and your friends will have help on the way for us. But how will they ever find us? These awful men said that we'll all be shipped off to Arabia tomorrow night. We may really have to be slave girls. Oh: does that longer whip you mentioned really hurt? What they used on me here wasn't any fun, I promise you!"

"It hurts, really bad," confirmed Veronica. "Maybe it's best if Susan feels the lash first here, with that multi-bladed one. She's a whip virgin, and that's probably an easier introduction to that form of punishment."

"Whip virgin!" snorted Holly. "You are funny, Veronica. But speaking of virginity, I bet we lose it soon. Susan and me, I mean. You're married, with children. What is the first time like? Not that doing it with a man who you love is quite the same as it will be for Susan and me, raped by wild-eyed degenerates!" She trembled, and Susan was ashen-faced as she realized that this would soon be her fate.

The girls talked more, getting to know one another and discussing their probable future. Each was glad to know the others, and to have someone to share their chains and their misery.

As it turned out, none of the girls would be whipped that night, for Fate intervened.

"Hush!" said Susan. "Someone is turning the key in the lock!"

They waited, afraid, assuming that it was Susan's time to go under the whip.

But the man who entered, one of the shopkeeper's sons, merely leered at them and placed three sets of padded brown leather gags and blindfolds on a small table.

"Later tonight, you will each wear these as you leave. If your owners remove them when you are out in the wilderness, that is up to them. We are transferring ownership of you to them. But you will not leave here able to implicate me, my father and brothers. You will never see this place from the outside."

"Look, Gupta or Ramal, or whatever your name is, we haven't eaten. I'm starving, and I imagine that Veronica and Susan are, too. You can't sell us if we starve. When is dinner served?" Holly hadn't been fully cowed by one whipping, and it showed.

The man sneered at her. "British female, you have been taught the name by which you must address me, and all men who deal with you. Speak it, or feel the whip again before you leave."

"Master," she stammered. "I mean no disrespect, but we are hungry. Please feed us." She managed to whimper a little, not all of the sound feigned. She was afraid, and she was hungry.

The man took a length of leather lace from a pocket and approached Holly. "Raise up high on your knees, girl." He handled the lace menacingly.

"No," screamed Veronica. "Master, please! I will serve you however you choose, but forgive her. She will be worth enough alive to atone for her insult. Would you not rather think of her submissively serving the Sultan than to strangle her? She will be much humbled, even within a few days!"

Holly looked stricken as she heard Veronica and realized why the man must have taken out that bootlace. Her neck felt constricted already. "Yes, please, Master! I apologize. I am hungry, and I spoke hastily!"

He chuckled. "Raise up, Holly. I am not going to strangle you. I will whip you later, I think. But as your new friend says, you will soon learn to be humble. I am only going to use the lace to measure your neck, and Susan's. Look at Veronica. See the slim metal collar with the ring on her throat? She looks lovely, wearing only that and her chains does she not? We have collars like that in several sizes, all that we need to fit girls who we find attractive enough to take." He gestured, and a frightened Holly rose up on her knees as instructed.

She felt the thong around her throat, and shivered. Then he removed it and measured it and jotted down his finding on a notepad. Then, it was Susan's turn.

"You made me an offer, Veronica," he observed. "But it was not your tongue that was offensive. Holly: rise up again and beg to serve my pleasure." His voice was firm, and she was jolted.

"Master, let me please you. Do not whip me again. Twice in one night is too much." She looked down, obviously scared. "I really, really do not want to be whipped again. What must I do?"

He told her, amused at the horrified expression on her face. "I can't do that! Decent women do not so such things! If news of that gets out, no honorable man will ever marry me!"

"Thanks a lot," said Veronica drily. "My husband loves that, and he loves me. Some men say one thing, and like another, in the bedroom. At least, Ned and the other men in our little group are honest with us girls about their feelings."

Holly looked desperately at her. "Veronica! You've done that?! Anyway, you're American, and you live in a primitive jungle. You're really Brazilian, now that I think of it. You said so. But I..."

"Holly, I am getting a little put out with you!" Veronica snapped. "I just offered to do that myself, to save you a whipping, and now you act like you're too good for it. Look, lady, where we're going, that is something that you'd better learn to do well, and soon. We'll be expected to do worse than that, and long before that ship reaches Amarrah!"

Holly sniffled, then nodded. "Master? I have never done that. What do I need to do? Is there a technique?"

He laughed. "Let Veronica tell you, in detail. I will return before long, and you will then do that, before others, as soon as I snap on your collars. Pay attention to what Veronica tells Holly, Susan. You also must do that before you are ready to leave. We men discussed it, and decided that all three of you will compete. The winner gets a fruit. The others will get a pat on the head for the runner-up. The losing girl gets five added strokes with the whip."

"That isn't fair, Master," interjected Veronica. "Let me show them what to do, then let just the two compete. I have enough experience that it isn't right to pit them against me. Please. They are new girls, unwed and inexperienced in love and such matters."

He looked at her. "I see why the men who brought you here admire you, Veronica. You are a brave and generous girl. You will make a splendid slave for the Sultan. I envy him. Very well: you shall service me, then each of the others. But yours will be a demonstration for them. And you and the winning girl will each have a fruit. Do you like oranges? We have those and other good things, for girls deserving of them."

"Oh," he added as an afterthought. "You will be fed before all this happens. I will bring the collars, lock them on the new slaves, and then you can be fed. Later, we will see what you can manage to do to earn that fruit." He chuckled and left.

"Can he actually be serious?" Susan shuddered.

"He is totally serious," Veronica told her. "I'll tell you what I can, and you'd better pay attention. Once you get past the idea, it isn't all that bad. Soon, you'll honestly be proud of how well you can do it. You may even look at girls who haven't done it as naive, sheltered, and prudish. As for men who won't marry you if they know that you've done it, I don't think that's a prime worry for us. We're slaves, and we MUST be good at that, and at other things. Even if you're rescued, which is becoming less likely with each passing hour, a man who'd reject you because you were forced to do that probably isn't going to be the fellow that you want to spend the rest of your life with. At best, he won't be as much fun as one who wants you to do that to him, and appreciates that you will."

"Anyway," she continued, "Here's what you need to do, and I'll tell you some nice tongue tricks that will make a guy sit up and take notice. You'll be earning more fruit and candy than whippings within a week if you do this right."

"Wait a minute," said Susan. "Just for the record, people will assume that we've done this and a whole lot more, just because we've been prisoners here, right? So, whether we do that or not probably doesn't matter. Either way, our reputation is pretty much in the sewer already."

"Very likely," agreed Veronica. "I'm already married, and my main worry is whether my man will forgive me for doing what I had to. Your problem is getting a nice man, to begin with. Someone who will still want to have his children with you, knowing that you knelt before these guys and called them 'master', and did what they wanted. But if we aren't rescued soon, it's all a moot point, anyway. We'd better start getting used to being the hottest sluts that we can. Marguerite told me about this Room of Correction that they have for girls who don't get with their program, so to speak. I'll share with you later what she told me about it. But the main news is, you DO NOT want to be sent there. Now, listen up, while I tell you how to do what they want tonight. We may not have much time, and there are some useful tips that I can give you. Other than that, just watch carefully while I use my mouth on that Indian creep. Excuse me, I mean on our exalted master."

In spite of her terror and revulsion, Holly thought that was funny, and managed a laugh. She decided that she was going to earn a piece of fruit. Let Susan feel the added lashes of the losing girl. Susan was probably too shy to do this sort of thing very well, anyway.

Holly listened carefully to what Veronica had to say, asking several questions when she wanted added clarity. Her interest was evident.

It dawned on poor Susan what Holly had in mind, and she rebelled. If either of us new girls gets any fruit tonight, it's going to be me, she decided, not that arrogant aristocrat of a banker's daughter. I'm scared and disgusted, but I'm blonde, and they'll like that, I bet. And I don't have so far to fall socially as the lovely debutante Miss Delaterre does. She deserves another whipping for trying to set me up for it. The hell of it is, if I hadn't caught on to what she's planning, I might have deliberately done less well, to spare her another lashing!

Susan tried not to show it, but she began listening intently to Veronica's advice and to Holly's questions. And she ran her tongue around her lips, practicing some of the motions that Veronica described...

She had barely begun when the Indian returned with their collars. He was in a bad mood.

"Here, Holly," he demanded, "Raise up and let me get this on you. We may not have time for much else tonight. Our friends want to leave early. Do not fear; they have said to feed you. But your whippings and the rest may have to be postponed until later. I will not get to feel you doing your best to avoid a whipping, after all, it seems."

He lifted Holly's lovely brown hair and locked the collar on her throat, then rotated it so that the small integral lock was behind her neck, and the steel ring in front. Then, he did the same to Susan, and checked Veronica's collar, the same model.

Another son of the owner came in with a tray containing three bowls of rice with vegetables and some fish. Each girl fed from a man's hand, then drank. Holly made a point of rising gracefully and looking shy and grateful as she took her bites. Veronica and Susan noticed and blushed, then made sure that they did as well.

In the end, they pleased their masters, and were rewarded with smiles and pats on the head. Susan seethed internally, but smiled and kissed the hand of the man who patted her head as if she was a dog.

The men left, and Holly told Susan that she had seen her kiss the man's hand. "Trying to curry favor, Susie?" she asked.

Susan nodded. "And you'd better appreciate it, Holly. I may have to ask for mercy to be shown to you later. If they like me, your chances are better."

"I hadn't thought of that," admitted Holly. She saw the way that Veronica was looking at her and said, "All right, ladies. I'll start doing things like that, too. Maybe I can get out of some punishment and help you, also. I guess that we had really better be friends. And try to make these men happy with us! "

Veronica snorted. "Holly, you're the brunette here. We blondes have figured that out already."

Holly laughed. "Yes, I suppose that it would be the blondes who'd figure that out first. Don't look at me that way, girls! I'm teasing!"

"You'd better be," warned Susan, and she and Veronica laughed.

They returned to discussing what would be expected of them when the time came, and just getting better acquainted, when there was a commotion and raised voices beyond the locked door to their quarters. Then, shots rang out!

The three women looked at one another, terrified.

There were two more shots. Then, a man from Khalid's caravan opened the door. "Slaves," he told them. "The Indians whom you met have ceased to be our partners. They will bother you no longer. We need to gather some food and other urgent items here, and look for money and other valuables that they no longer need. Then, we will load you into the cars and be off for the coast. Just think: you will have a free ocean cruise soon. Talk while you can. And you will probably not be gagged for most of our journey, if you do not scream or otherwise cause trouble. You will not need the blindfolds. It does not matter much if you see this place from outside now. It will soon be in flames, and you will notice little else in the dark, anyway."

He shut the door, and they heard the sounds of men searching the store, moving frantically, for they knew that they must now leave soon.

The slave girls looked at one another with fear. "I think we're going to be okay, ladies," said Veronica. "These men still want to sell us. And I don't miss the others. It looks like our performance has been delayed, too. Be grateful for what you can, I guess."

They nodded, but Susan had mixed emotions. As long as she was being forced to do what they wanted, she was curious and half anticipating servicing their captors. It was a step outside her sheltered existence, and under the circumstances, she wanted to get it over with, for the first time. It certainly wasn't anything that she had done with a man whom she'd dated, even when they'd managed to avoid a chaperone. She wondered if Holly felt the same way, under her patrician attitude.

She looked her over carefully, and decided that there was a pretty good chance of that. She was flushed and looking feminine and desirable about something...

"Listen! Did you hear that?! Shots?" Roxton looked at Musgrave, who nodded. They pulled up the four cars, which had been approaching the dukka with their headlights out. They were also using thorn bush and trees as much as possible to conceal their advance. They had left the road nearly a mile back, as darkness fell.

"Get out with your binoculars and see what you can, lads," ordered Musgrave. "Amanda, you are in charge of the ladies. Stay here."

"Yes, Master. We hear and obey," muttered Marguerite under her breath. Finn heard, and snickered. She drew her Smith & Wesson .38 and checked the cylinder. It was loaded, as she had known it would be. But she never took chances that she didn't have to.

The rescued Diana smiled, but wondered what to do. She had the Luger captured by Marguerite, but doubted if she had the courage to use it, unless directly in danger. She had not been raised to murder, and shivered a little as she sensed the urge for revenge on the part of the other ladies. She hoped that Amanda Musgrave would have more influence over them than she thought might be the case.

Finn pulled on her bush jacket. "The khaki covers my arms and makes me less obvious in the dark," she explained. She also removed her sun helmet and replaced it with a dark stocking ski cap. "Hides the blonde hair for which I am justly famous," she giggled.

"And it won't make noise if brush scrapes against it in the dark," added Marguerite.

Diana was now seriously concerned that these women had plans beyond those which Musgrave had ordained for them

"Finn!" Roxton had returned to the car. "Get your glass and come over here and get up a tree and tell us what you can see over the next rise of ground. We men are too heavy."

Finn nodded, picking up her Zeiss 8X30 binocular and her 'scope-sighted .275 Rigby rifle. This was a job that she had done several times before, in Brazil, working smoothly with Roxton, her virtual big brother and soul mate, in some respects.

"Aren't you afraid, Finny?" asked Diana.

"Sure," answered her slender blonde companion. "But somebody has to do this, and Johnny and I are our hunter-killer team. We've done this before, and Vee's life is at stake. I'll manage." She had a cold determination about her that frightened Diana and Amanda.

"What did she mean by being your hunter-killer team?" demanded Amanda Musgrave. "What sort of people are you, anyway?" She gave Marguerite an intense look.

Marguerite returned her look with a level, steely gaze. "Live ones, Amanda, in spite of some people's best efforts to render us otherwise. We have had similar experiences before, and we don't give up our own easily. If Veronica is in there and alive, we're going to get her back. And those damned Arabs are going to be seeing their promised 72 virgins in Paradise soon, if they get in the way!"

"Seventy-two virgins?" mouthed an embarrassed Amanda. "Is that what their men expect after they die?"

"I think the number is correct. I've asked, and Muslims don't agree on the exact figure. But it's more than enough to keep a man busy. Although why they insist on virgins is beyond me. I think virgins are boring. Highly overrated. Thankfully, my husband agrees."

In spite of herself, Diana giggled. "Oh, Marguerite, you are nasty!"

"True," her companion grinned. "But I'm fun to know."

"Yes, I can imagine," muttered Lady Musgrave. "I know: just ask your husband. Right?"

"Roxton knows all things," agreed his wife. "Hopefully, doesn't tell many of them." She joined the other ladies in laughter, some of which was due to the stress of rising action. Soon, something would happen here. She hoped fervently that all would end well. She missed Veronica, far more than she had once thought that she ever would. Now, that girl is almost a part of my heart, she reflected.

She saw Malone pass in the dark, and pulled him over. "Ned," she said, "it won't be long now." She squeezed his shoulder and kissed his cheek.

He nodded and went forward to see what role he might be able to play in saving his wife. The only person who wanted her back with him more than he did was Veronica, herself...

"There are three camels and two horses outside, but I don't see any people," reported Finn, her expensive German binocular to her eyes.

"I hope that those shots weren't these devils shooting the girls," muttered Roxton. "Although I don't see why they would. Why go to all the trouble of kidnapping them, just to kill them?"

"Hey!" said Finn. "Some Arab guy just came out. But his turban was yellow or white. The guy who Marguerite was worried about has a green turban, and the camp boys said that the head slaver had a green one. He's maybe that same man. Okay, this wing-ding is going over to the cars. There are three of those. He's starting one."

She waited as the man also started the other cars and seemed to be listening to them run, before he turned off the engines.

"I guess he was checking the cars," shrugged Finn.

Before he went back inside, the man walked over to the animals and another man came out. They removed the bridles and what loads the beasts still wore, and yelled and waved their arms to scare the animals off. One man pulled out a pistol and fired a shot into the air. The animals bolted and the two men went back into the store.

"What the devil was THAT about?" wondered Musgrave.

"I'd guess that these fellows are about to leave in the cars, and wanted to be rid of the animals that they rode here on," guessed Hardy. Blacklaws and Hamilton agreed.

"Those almost have to be the very animals that we tracked here," pointed out Hamilton.

Ned Malone had found his Winchester M-12 shotgun among the firearms in one of the safari cars. One of the gun bearers had put it there by mistake when the hunters had left the fateful morning when the girls had been kidnapped. So, it had not been stolen by the Arabs and their African accomplices.

He found several boxes of shells for it, including two of buckshot loads. He loaded the gun with these now, stuffing six of them into the tubular magazine under the barrel. He closed the action with that solid snick-CLACK! that sounds so ominous in movies and on TV shows when a slide-action shotgun is operated. It is a pleasant sound to the sportsman out for a day of pheasant shooting. In the stillness of the African night, it had a lethal note, and gave Ned confidence in what he was about to do.

He stuffed extra shells into his trousers and hunting vest pockets, and cocked his Colt .45 automatic. Flipping the safety on, he thrust the pistol into his waistband. He had no spare holster to replace the one that was stolen. With luck, he would soon recover his guns, along with his wife.

He put on his hat, and went forward, to join the other men. The way this was shaping up, he expected action in the next few minutes. They could not allow these men to leave. Either they had the missing girls, or they had just killed them inside the store. Ned hoped very much that his woman was a live slave instead of a dead body. He wiped a tear from his right eye, made sure that the safety catch in front of the trigger guard on his 12 gauge Winchester was "on" and joined the other men and Finn.

"Gentlemen, I think we had better get ready to move," suggested Roxton. "There are six of us, and probably about that many of them. Maybe one or two more. The transport they used wouldn't let many more arrive, but we can't know how many were waiting here."

"Right," said Musgrave. "I want some of you lads at each end of the dukka, ready to go in those doors when I say to. I'll lead the pair at the north end, the way they came. Geoff, you and Stuart know one another well, and hunt together. Do you want to block the southern door, leading to those cars? Angus, you go with them. Roxton, Malone, and I will hit the north end."

"Where do you want me?" asked Finn, coming down the tree. Roxton lifted her clear as she almost reached the ground.

"Mrs. Challenger, why don't you and your husband join the other ladies and protect the cars?" Musgrave thought that would give her and the older man something useful to do. Challenger seemed very fit, but he must be well over 50, and might not be able to run quickly or out struggle one of the Arabs in a hand-to-hand fight.

Finn regarded him coolly, and turned to Roxton. "Johnny, where do you want me? Sniper, watching for anyone who breaks past Mr. Hardy and our hunters, and tries to get away in a car? George can spot for me with his binocular."

"Young lady, I believe that I was specific, and I am in charge here. I am the District Commissioner, if you might care to recall that small fact." Musgrave was piqued at this girl's insolence and her assumption that she should have some combatant role. He was not so short of men that he would ask a woman to help. Just not the gentlemanly way to do things...

Roxton held up a finger to ask Musgrave's forbearance, and took Finn and Challenger aside. "Look, we can't upset Musgrave. But once you've gone back to the cars, why don't you decide that the best way to fulfill his order to protect them and the women is to find a good place to kill whoever gets past us? Just don't shoot without cause, or you may be arrested for murder. This isn't the Plateau, and we have to play by artificial rules now."

"Capital idea, John," Challenger chuckled. "Very well, Darling, let us go and save the women and the cars." He winked at her, and she grinned back.

"Those creeps aren't getting out of here with Vee and whoever else they may be planning to ship to that jerk of a Sultan," Finn promised. "If nothing else, I'll shoot out the tires on their cars."

"Good girl," smiled Roxton, and went to join the other men.

"At least, they ran off their own livestock," observed Blacklaws. I was sure that those camels would give the alarm at any moment. Thankfully, the wind was blowing from them toward us."

"Well, this is it," said Musgrave. He drew his revolver and led the way toward the store. "If anyone of you has a free hand, cross your fingers for luck. We probably could use some just now."

As they neared the store, Roxton bent low to go under a window. Musgrave followed, and the other men. They were just about to enter the north door when one of the Arabs turned a corner in the store and saw them. He raised an alarm, and the men rushed in, calling on those inside to surrender.

The Arab went for his gun, and Ned Malone blasted him from ten feet away with the 12 gauge shotgun. The effect was impressive to see, and the man staggered back against a wall and dropped dead. There was a sound of great commotion within the store and shots rang out.

The men going in the rear door heard women screaming, and shot another Arab trying to get into the room where they obviously were. Angus Hardy made sure that the Arab was dead, and then joined others in forcing open the door.

Within, another man was trying to unlock the ankle chains on Holly, to use her as a hostage as he fled. Blacklaws killed him as he saw a clear shot when Holly deliberately fell, giving the rescuers an opening. He walked over to Holly and told her that she was saved. "Is this other lovely blonde lady not Susan? I recall seeing her in the bank."

"Yes," said Susan, standing with his aid. "Oh, Mr. Blacklaws, thank you, ever so much! You can't imagine what horrors these men planned. We girls were to be sold as slaves!"

"Yes, my daughter told us," said Hardy. He looked at the other blonde. "Mrs. Malone, I am so sorry to find you thus. Let me help you up. Your husband will be here in a moment. He is with the other men. They went in the north door. How many of these vermin are there?"

Veronica said that there were five or six of the Arabs. "I think these creeps killed the Indians here," said Veronica. "Not that I don't think they had it coming. They were part of the plot. Is Ned all right? These bastards hit him on the head when they took us."

There was another loud shot, from the Mauser 7.63mm pistol of the man who had run off the animals. It was answered by two quick shots from Roxton's .45 and a blast from Malone's shotgun. A short scream was followed by a thud as the man fell.

In seconds, Ned was at the door of the room, pumping another shell into his Winchester. He saw his wife, and quickly looked around.

"It's all right, Malone. Come in. There's a lady here who will be very glad to see you, I fancy," said Hamilton.

Malone applied the safety to his shotgun, set it in a corner of the room and seized Veronica in his arms. "Oh, Baby! Please forgive me. I got hit before I could save you. Will you forgive me? Did they hurt you?" He grasped her like she was about to be pressed into him and she held herself as tightly against him as she could, with her hands chained behind her.

"Neddy! Oh, damn it, I'm going to cry! Just hold me now. I'll tell you all about it later, but I'm okay. I have never been so glad to see another human being in my life!" She kissed him with all her might and he replied with the same fervor.

"Looks like they care a little about each other, what?" Holly, embarrassed by her nakedness and her chains, nonetheless found her droll sense of humor.

"Could be," admitted Blacklaws, staring at one of the most attractive women whom he had ever laid eyes on. Holly was someone who had caught his attention before, and now, with her clothes off, she was a visual feast.

"Come, Blacklaws, stop staring at that girl, and find the keys to her chains," demanded Musgrave. By now, the other men had crowded into the room.

"Where is this man Khalid? Was he the ringleader?" Roxton was eager to find the man who had stolen his wife.

"John, he is here, or was," stammered Veronica, breaking off her kiss with Ned. "The monster was going to whip us girls before we left tonight. He probably has the keys to our handcuffs and leg irons. Unless this dead guy on the floor has. He was trying to unfasten Holly's ankles."

"Never fear, Mrs. Malone," said Musgrave. "If we don't find him, Mrs. Challenger mysteriously has a key that fits those cuffs."

Veronica laughed out loud, in spite of her fear and her shame at being seen naked. "That figures! If anyone would have a handcuff key, it would be Finny. Ned, where is she? Is she all right?"

There was a flurry of activity in the hall outside, and someone ran past. Hardy and Hamilton ran to see who it was, and Hamilton was wounded slightly in the shoulder as a gun fired. His return shot and one from Hardy missed, and the men looked around the corner to see if the route was clear to pursue.

They heard Challenger yell for the fleeing man to halt. There was a pistol shot, followed at once by the sound of a hunting rifle being fired in the distance. There was the slap of a bullet hitting flesh, and the Arab cried out and fell dead.

"I think we just heard from Finn," said Roxton drily. "She and George were staking out the rear exit, to cover those cars."

"What?" exclaimed Musgrave. "I specifically told that couple to go back and watch the women!"

"You said to protect them," retorted Lord Roxton., "I think they decided that the best way to do that was to watch over the route to them."

"Someone see what that dead guy on the floor was using on Holly's chains," said Veronica. "Maybe it will unlock us. I'm kind of shy about standing here in my birthday suit, being seen by all of you men. Except for Neddy. He can see me naked whenever he likes, after saving me tonight!" She leaned over and kissed her husband again.

Roxton turned the dead man over and found the key. He unlocked the short chains on the girls' foot irons, but found that the key would not fit the other locks. This key was just for the common padlocks that were used to secure the chains in the floor.

"Send for Finn", he told Musgrave. "I think her key will work. Turn around, Miss." He addressed Susan.

When she turned, he confirmed that her handcuffs were the same as Diana had worn. Finn's key should fit. Veronica and Holly wore the same model of cuffs, normal except for having just the one link between the bracelets.

"Look here," said Musgrave. "I think that Mr. Malone should stay in the room, as he is married to one of the ladies and can protect them. The rest of us should step outside, in view of their nudity. My wife and the other women will be along soon, and I believe they have some clothes that may fit you girls."

"No!" exclaimed Holly. "I mean, I'm still scared." She blushed crimson. "Mr. Blacklaws, will you please wait with me? Is that all right, Susan?" She looked at that girl.

Susan, surprised, nodded. "I don't suppose that he will see anything that they all haven't. I feel like I'm on display in a zoo, being gawked at." She saw a chair and walked over and sat down. It felt much better than sitting or kneeling on that cold floor had.

"That seems highly irregular," ventured the DC. "Do you know Blacklaws well?"

"Yes," Holly lied. "Mr. Blacklaws and I are old friends, aren't we, Geoff?" She winked and he smiled.

He pulled over some other chairs, and assisted Holly to sit. With her ankles chained so closely, she could barely walk. He took the next chair, and the Malones, the others.

"Well," muttered the DC. "I suppose that it will be all right. Come on, Roxton, let's search this store and see who that was who ran out. Maybe it was this Khalid fellow."

"What color is his turban?" asked Veronica. "Check that. Khalid is that man with the green one, the one who made Marguerite so uneasy back at the hotel."

But the dead man outside was wearing a red turban. "Ahmed," said Veronica, when told. "He's the creep who whipped me so hard the first night I was a prisoner." She shivered at the memory.

"They had no business doing that!" stormed Malone. "Marguerite and Diana told us about that, and I hate it. Veronica, I feel so useless. I should have gotten to that rifle in time, and you'd never have been taken!" He looked miserable, and full of guilt.

She leaned over and kissed him again. "Oh, I don't blame you, Neddy. They did everything so fast that we barely had time to see what was happening. I'm just glad that you're alive. They wouldn't tell me whether you'd live. I don't think they cared."

"Were you girls raped?" The question shot out of Ned's mouth before he could think, and realize that this might not be the best time to ask.

They all blushed, and Holly said that this hadn't happened to her and Susan...yet. "I think they were saving that for later. They were short of time. That's why we weren't whipped again or made to do some other things, after they killed the store owner and his sons."

"I wasn't raped, but I had to do some other things. They forced me." Veronica began to cry. "Oh, Ned! I am so sorry! But they said that I'd be whipped again, and I couldn't take that. And they were going to do bad things to the other women if I refused. Can you forgive me? I want to still be your wife. I love you more than ever. Please tell me that you still find me acceptable."

Ned looked at her with amazement. "Veronica, I have found you 'acceptable' since the day that I first laid eyes on you. You're more beautiful than ever. Childbirth didn't hurt your looks at all, and neither did this. You're still the woman who I want to think of on a pedestal. If it hadn't seemed so dramatic and silly, I would have built you a wooden pedestal like the one that George puts Finn on when she does something that he especially likes. And your beauty goes right through you. It isn't just on the outside. Honey, I love you even more, for having nearly lost you. And when we get some privacy, I am going to prove that to you."

A thought struck him. "Look, this business didn't make you so angry with men that you don't want to be touched, did it?"

She sniffled and tried to smile. "Maybe. Depends on which man wants to touch me. If it's you, fine. I was just terrified that you wouldn't WANT to touch me." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Oh, Mr. Malone, you are the best husband ever! Touch me all you like, wherever you want, inside or out, as soon as we can!" She snuggled next to him. "Hold me, Neddy. Don't turn loose of me until we have to go."

Holly saw and looked shyly at Blacklaws. "Geoff, do you think that my reputation will be ruined by this? You're a gentleman. Could you ever want to hold me in your arms after what happened to me?"

"Yes," he answered, admiring her. "Actually, I have wanted to ask you out, but I understood that you were all but spoken for."

She nodded. "I need to speak to the fellow you have in mind. But I find you very dashing and adventurous. Could we go out a few times? I want to be sure that he is really the man whom I want. Every time I see you, I wonder about that. It is shameful of me to say this, but I find you very attractive, and I want to date you before I make a bad decision." She blushed, shocked at what she was telling him. But this might be her only chance to say such things to this man who stirred her blood.

"Holly, will you have dinner with me as soon as we can get back to civilization? I'd be very happy to get to know you better. And not just because I have seen you in the altogether. You have spirit, and I've admired that whenever I've seen you. And I like the pluck you've shown here tonight. That was funny, what you said earlier about the Malones. If you can make jokes at a time like this, you're quite a girl."

Roxton knocked on the door. "We can't find that varlet Khalid. Veronica, have you any idea where he could have gone?"

No," she called. "I was blindfolded when they brought me in here."

There was a shot from outside, then another, and a man screamed out in pain.

The men ran out, save for Blacklaws and Malone. Malone got his shotgun and they stood ready for whatever might happen.

Outside, they found Lady Roxton standing over Khalid, who was lying on the ground, bleeding from a wound in his right leg. She had a Colt .45 automatic in her left hand, the gun that he had dropped when she shot him as he had emerged from a tunnel beneath the store.

Her right hand held the Webley MK VI that she had taken from the dead slaver as she escaped. Marguerite cocked the hammer and said, "If you want to pray, you bastard, you'd better do it fast. My patience with you is about over!"

"Lady Roxton!" called Musgrave. "This is not that plateau in Brazil where you came to a certain fame. We have laws here. If you shoot that man now, it will be murder. Roxton! Talk to your wife!"

"He's right, Marguerite. Even my influence won't save you if you shoot this bastard in cold blood. Let the hangman have him. I'll see that you witness the execution, but holster your gun. Now." Roxton was genuinely worried, for he knew how Marguerite had suffered under the Sultan and lately, under this man. He wanted to kill Khalid, himself, but Musgrave was right.

She looked coldly at Khalid and said, "Saved by the arrival of witnesses, Khalid. What have you done with Veronica? If she is hurt, I swear that your life won't be worth a plugged shilling. If the courts don't have you, I will someday, without anyone to see!"

Marguerite pointed the Webley away and lowered the hammer carefully. Putting it in her holster, she turned to her husband and said, "John, take me out of here. Just seeing this snake is making me sick to my stomach. Have you found Vee?"

He told her that their friend and other women were safe inside and she went in and saw them.

"Here, Ned," she said, passing him the Colt. "See if this may be your gun. Vee, how are you?"

Veronica stood and Marguerite embraced her. They wept together, and Marguerite told everyone how she had escaped with Diana.

Finn came in, Challenger waiting outside the door with the other men. She was carrying the handcuff key in her trousers pocket, aware that it might be needed again. It unlocked the cuffs, but the girls remained chained at their ankles. This was solved as Musgrave passed in a set of keys that he had taken from Khalid. He also passed in a gun belt and holster that proved to belong to Malone. The gun was his, also, recognized by the serial number on it. He happily buckled on the belt and checked the gun and a favorite Remington stag-handled knife sheathed on the belt.

Khalid was laid down on a table in the next room and his wound was treated with a first aid kit from a safari truck. Hamilton's shoulder wound was also disinfected and bandaged.

Musgrave demanded to know everything about the kidnappings and to whom Khalid had planned to sell the stolen women.

"I will tell you nothing, Englishman," Khalid said. "I want a lawyer. And keep Lady Roxton away from me. She is half insane!"

"Let me make you an offer that you'd better consider carefully, you varlet," said Musgrave. "Either you sing about your cronies, or you'll hang, for certain. If you give up the Sultan or whoever sent you, I'll have the Crown prosecutor agree to a life sentence. The evidence is irrefutable, and you will be convicted of multiple murders, as well as kidnapping, slavery, ivory smuggling, and whatever else we can think of."

"I will think on this," Khalid said. But he blanched at the mention of the hangman. He looked at Roxton and at Malone, who had come in to see the man who had taken his wife.

"You men must enjoy your marriages," he said. "Your wives are natural sluts. I enjoyed having them please me. I only regret not having taken them more fully before delivering them to their destination. I think they would have enjoyed that."

"Musgrave, why don't you step outside for a moment," said Roxton. "I have a feeling that Khalid is about to grab a gun and try to escape." He looked at the Arab with such evident desire to kill that the slaver wondered if he should have insulted the noble Englishman.

"That will be enough, Roxton. I want you and Malone out of here. Send in someone else to help me watch this man. Hamilton, how is your shoulder?" Musgrave wondered what was keeping the police. Maybe they hadn't found his note.

An angry Marguerite wandered through the store, gun ready in case any more slavers remained in hiding. She heard a faint noise from within an area that seemed to do duty as a kitchen.

On stepping around the corner, she saw two dead Indian men, one lying atop the other, as they had fallen. But just beyond, there was a movement in the shadows, and someone sat up, a gun in his hand. She was looking straight into the face of the treacherous Juma!

Marguerite immediately brought up the Webley in both hands and fired twice. The shots were horribly loud in the store, and she wondered how long her ears would ring from the noise.

"Marguerite!" shouted a desperate Roxton. In seconds, he was by her side, his gun out. Others also rushed in and saw the now dead Juma stretched out on the dirt floor.

"Was this self defense, Lady Roxton?" asked the DC. He was giving her a very cold look.

"Yes, Musgrave, it bloody well was! This boy is the one who betrayed us, and he had my gun in his hand. I want that back, by the way." She looked at Roxton as she reloaded, and he stepped over and took her Smith & Wesson .38 from the hand of their betrayer. He unbuckled the belt and removed it and took it and the holster to her.

"Darling, this isn't your belt. I expect that he needed a longer one. You know, I had forgotten just how much he usually sulked and had a sullen expression. Were you hurt?"

She shook her head. "I saw him just as he started to rise and aim at me. He recognized me, I'm sure. I think he wanted to kill me before he went. He was already wounded. Someone should have checked his body better."

"We've been a bit busy," said Hardy. "Sir John, will you accompany me and check any others we find?"

"Capital idea," said the DC. "Lady Roxton, I accept your word as a noblewoman that you were in danger. There will be no investigation of this. But do try to stay with your husband, and both of you avoid any more trouble tonight, if at all possible."

"Yes, Sir John. I'm sorry if I was disrespectful. I have just been scared out of my wits. He nearly killed me, after all that I have been through in the past few days."

Musgrave nodded, and went with Hardy to check the premises.

As soon as they were sure that no living slavers still lurked, Amanda Musgrave and Diana Hardy brought in clothing for the newly freed captives. It was somewhat sparse, for it had been selected for Veronica, Marguerite, and Diana, the group not knowing that two other girls were also prisoners.

There remained one blouse for Veronica, the other women having already donned their clothing. She had a choice of shorts or a knee-length skirt. Whichever she chose, one of the other former slaves could wear the other...if it fit! There was also lingerie.

Veronica looked at the panties and snorted. "Who chose this underwear? Finn? One of the men? Like there'd be much difference!" She laughed.

"Hey!" said Finn. "I was trying to pick sexy little numbers that would make you girls feel good about yourselves when we rescued you. Fun stuff. You'd look great in one of the leopard pattern panties, Vee. Wild jungle princess, huh?" She snickered, handing a pair of the bikini panties to her best pal.

"Those knickers do look, ah, rather abbreviated," noted Lady Musgrave. She smiled, wearing the small pair of pink ones, herself. They made her feel almost a decade younger than her 34 years.

Susan lifted a pair of dark green bikini panties, a very deep jade color. "They are awfully small, but they're so pretty, and so feminine. Where did they come from?" She studied the delicate lace trim, wondering what these might cost. They were clearly of the best materials and workmanship. "What about sizes?"

"Marguerite and I are one size, and Milady Malone here needs one size larger in some styles," said Finn. "I first designed them, after some I knew where I came from. It was sort of a futuristic city, I guess you could say. We three girls design them and have them made by specialty shops in England. But Vee made the early ones on her sewing machine back in Amazonia when we first did this. She sews really well. So does Marguerite."

Holly lifted an almost sheer beige pair, trying to decide which was the front portion. "This looks like some stripper's gee-string, I guess. I've never really seen one."

"That's a thong, or tanga," said Veronica, showing her how it would be worn. "It leaves most of your butt bare, which is nice mainly if you have a guy to admire the view. I sometimes wear those at home, under my loincloth. They don't show if I somersault or bend over too far."

"Loincloth?" asked Amanda. "My word, Veronica, you do seem to lead an interesting life. Now that I think of it, I believe that I did see your husband's book, with a photo of you in that jungle outfit. I understand that the book sold rather well to men who liked that picture." She looked both peeved and amused.

"Oh, is that you in that book?!" exclaimed Holly. "I have seen that! My brother bought a copy. He has to hide it from Mum and Dad. Mum would not be thrilled if she caught him with that, and it has sketches of you in trees in it, too, wearing that outfit. Your husband is a really good artist! And Finn, weren't you in a black outfit, with scandalously brief shorts? Yes, it was you! Good heavens, Susan, these people are celebrities! They were on that strange Challenger expedition."

"Listen," said Finn. "Professor Challenger is my husband. Nothing that he does is strange. Sometimes, it's over the heads of a lot of people, but George is one of the greatest geniuses that the world has ever known!"

"Did he find dinosaurs?" asked Amanda, trying to keep a straight face.

"Yes," said Finn. "Well, we found evidence that they lived on that remote plateau a lot more recently than elsewhere. Why, some days, I almost felt them breathing down my neck, they seemed so real." She winked at Marguerite and Veronica, who hid smiles.

"Well, at least you got to dress like you were in that American chap Edgar Rice Burroughs's Tarzan or Martian books. Veronica, your loincloth was like something that High Priestess La of Opar might wear." Holly giggled, partly from amusement, partly from delayed stress.

"Just choose something and lets' see what else you girls need to get dressed," said Marguerite, wanting to end speculation about the Plateau.

Susan selected the dark green knickers, and Holly fondled a black string bikini pair, the waistband about a quarter-inch wide, mainly just elastic covered with the black satin material. She liked a lace floral applique on the front.

"Put those on, Holly," said Veronica. "They'll make you feel like dancing, not necessarily the sort of dance that I was going to have to teach you to please those Arabs." She smiled.

Holly blushed and tried them on. "Oh, I feel so wicked! Perhaps, I will wear these, if I may. What else is there? Veronica, you wear the skirt. I can make do with the shorts if they'll fit."

Susan adjusted a white pushup demi- bra and found it to fit well, if not quite perfectly. It was one of Marguerite's, and that lady was slightly less endowed than was Susan. She quickly donned additional clothes.

But Holly had no garment save for panties, for the shorts fit Susan better than her. Neither girl had any boots, for they had been stripped in Nairobi, and not a stitch of their clothing had come with them. Only their earrings had been allowed.

"I have a great idea!" exclaimed Finn. "Marguerite, get one of those blankets that you took from the slavers. I'm going to find a pair of scissors. A store like this must have some around. We can cut a hole in the middle of the blanket, and Holly can wear one like a serape or poncho, or whatever those things are called. It'll probably cover her at least to her knees."

"Finnykins, you never cease to amaze me with your zany ideas," Marguerite retorted, "but that one should work". She went out and Finn went for the scissors.

Marguerite also brought in her shorter boots, which fit Holly, if a little on the tight side. With the improvised garment on, Holly was at least decently covered, if a little on the racy side. She found herself wondering what Geoff Blacklaws might think of her legs, which she knew very well were superb. If she "accidentally" lifted the blanket a little higher than necessary when getting in the car, Blacklaws would see them almost up to her shapely hips. She decided to ask him to help her get in the car, to be sure that he saw. Why leave something that important to chance? She smiled at her cleverness.

Challenger stuck his head into the dukka and called to Musgrave that he saw vehicles coming, through his binocular. "I rather fancy that it's your police lads, late to the party."

And it was.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The police came in three trucks, three white officers and 25 askaris. They bustled around, making sketches of the premises, for they had no cameras, and the courts would want to see the placement of the dead bodies and other items. They took Khalid into custody, and chained him in one of their vehicles.

Finn and Challenger drew the Roxtons and the Malones and their hunters aside and told them quietly that they had been through the slavers' cars and recovered most of the stolen guns. They had been unable to search for jewelry, watches, etc. "But we wanted to get our guns before that stiff-backed DC decided to seize them for evidence, or something." Finn caressed the beautifully-figured walnut stock of her Jeffery .450/400 double rifle as she spoke.

It turned out better than expected. Musgrave ordered the police to return their stolen goods as they were identified, with the police just recording each item as it was discovered, and where it was found. Fortunately, there was little or no damage to anything. The guns were still in their rigid wooden and leather cases, and the jewelry had been carefully handled and packed.

Roxton was agitated to discover a dent in the stock of his spare .318 rifle, but commented that the repair department at Westley Richards could steam out the slight depression in the wood and refinish it.

"Still, this irritates me considerably," he declared. "Darling, why don't you walk over and shoot Khalid in his other leg, while Musgrave's back is turned? The blighter has it coming!"

Marguerite laughed and said that she'd like to, if it were really possible. They all joined the laughter, helping to dispel the tension of the past few days.

The women assembled at the cars, where Lady Musgrave saw that all had food and water, and the chance to commiserate with their fellow ladies. She said that her husband would soon dismiss everyone, to go to Angus and Diana Hardy's farm. There, clothes could be sewn for those needing them, and they could recover from the horrors of the past few days. "John tells me that the police have reported the breaks in the telephone lines, and we can notify your families that you are safe, on Angus's radio," she added.

"I haven't any family left in Kenya," said Susan sadly. "But I expect that we'd better notify the bank what became of me. Maybe I can keep my job there until I save up a bit more. Then, I want to go to London and rent a room while I try to find work there. I'm not really cut out for this country, I'm afraid."

"Can you type, at least a little?" asked Finn. "I need a personal secretary. George and I will pay you more than the bank did, and you can have a free room at our London house or our estate in Kent, depending on where we are at the time. I'm an author, but I hate to type!"

"Oh, Mrs. Challenger! Do you mean that? That would be heavenly! Yes, I type about 60 words a minute." Susan was hopeful and grateful. "Are you sure that this would be fine with your husband?"

"Yes," joked Finn. "I'll tell him that it is. Seriously, he seldom denies me anything that I reasonably want, and we've been talking about getting me a secretary. So, you have the job, if you want it. I can introduce you to some nice men you might want to date, too."

Susan's spirits were lifted, and it was contagious. They all were happier as they loaded into the trucks to go to the Hardy estate.

But Holly amused the other women as she told Blacklaws that she was a little shaky from her ordeal, and asked him to help her into the car. She showed him rather a lot of shapely leg as he did this, thought Lady Musgrave. Then, she smiled. Holly was husband hunting, and from the look of things, Blacklaws was close to being hooked.

They talked quietly on the way, and some tried to doze in the car seats. Veronica sat by Ned, and their hands frequently met. They were seen kissing several times, but no one teased them. After what they had been through, everyone was just glad that they were reunited. Finally, they stopped and made breakfast.

After they ate, Susan took Finn aside. "Mrs. Challenger, I may not be able to accept your job offer. I've been thinking about my slim finances. I have only some 300 quid in the bank. How much is a Second or Third Class ship ticket? Do you know?" She assumed correctly that her new employer and her husband travelled First Class.

"That's the problem? Just that you can't afford passage to Britain?" Finn motioned for Challenger to come over.

She told him about hiring Susan, and asked if they could pay for her passage. "I really need a secretary, Genius, and Susan and we have a certain bond after all that we've been through together. I like her personality, too. Can we buy her ticket?" She looked at her husband with those eyes and that expression that nearly always melted his heart and got her whatever she wanted, if at all reasonable. Finn tried to be reasonable.

"Second or Third Class passage?" He mulled over the issue. "Young lady," he addressed Susan. "I am afraid that Finn and I cannot do that for you. But I will happily pay for your trip if you will go First Class and be available in case Finn needs you for dictation or typing. The issue, you see, is that Challengers go First Class. I did that in a wife, and I will do that for her secretary." He smiled at his love.

Finn yelped and did a joyous little dance, to everyone's amusement. She seized her man and said, "Thank you, Genius! I knew that I could rely on you to do the right thing here, and you did! Oh, George, I love you more every day! If that's even possible!" She pulled him down and kissed him, as several people applauded. They hadn't heard the exchange of words between the two, but everyone likes to see a married couple who are actually in love!

Susan had heard them, and she curtsied to Challenger and said, "Professor, I will try ever so hard to be what your wife expects in a secretary. You are very generous and kind. One doesn't see that too often."

"Well, nothing is too good for Finn," he said, squeezing his wife. "And if you are the typist whom she prefers, you deserve what help we can give you. I, myself, am eager to see her next book in print. I'm sure that having you to assist will expedite that. She is a terrific woman, but she and typing do not mix well." He chuckled. "So, you see, not even Finn is perfect."

Finn smiled, and dug her husband playfully in the ribs with an elbow. "You don't exactly type well, either, wise guy."

"Well, perhaps you will lend me your secretary at times. My articles for scientific journals are much shorter than your volumes of adventure and romance, and even your planned wildlife works. Or, if that is too great a burden, Susan, I can hire temporary help when you need assistance."

"I'll do my best to handle everything I can," Susan promised. "Oh, thank you Mr. and Mrs. Challenger. For me, this is like a dream come true!"

"It gets better," Finn teased. "Wait until you taste what our cook makes. Then you'll really think you're in Paradise!" She remembered too well the days when her meals had been haphazard. Sometimes, she would walk over to George and hug him, seemingly for nothing. When he asked the cause, she'd often say, "Because of you, Genius, I know where my next meal is coming from." It was a sobering issue, and his heart always went out to her when he recalled the circumstances in which he had discovered her surviving.

When that happened and he was in a thoughtful mood, he would sometimes pick her up and put her on the wooden pedestal that he kept for her in their bedroom. When she giggled and asked why he'd done it this time, he'd look somberly at her and say, "That's for staying alive until I could find you, and for marrying me."

But he had done that only twice, for she had both times broken out in tears as she hugged him like he was a life preserver and she was a drowning woman. All that he wanted to think of drowning were her nightmares from the past.

Hiring a secretary for her was a privilege, he thought. If Finn wanted to see it as a favor, well, so be it. For all of Finn's feeling that he had saved her life, Challenger still thought that saving her was the best thing that he had ever done for himself.

They debated whether to shoot a small buck for lunch, but settled for bully beef (U.S. term is "corned" beef) and other canned goods, the better to reach the Hardy estate soon. Everyone was quite tired, and drivers decided to sleep and drive in relays.

At the farm at last, the women went to their tents for more clothes and shared them with Susan and Holly. The latter went through Finn's things to pick out a few that might fit her, and found one of the black shorts and cropped top sets that Finn had worn in Amazonia. She had brought it on safari thinking that it might prove to be acceptable lounge wear in camp.

Holly called Diana over, and told her that she and Angus ought to convince Finn and Veronica to wear their Amazonian garb and host a book ordering party. Guests could place orders for Finn's and Malone's books after meeting the authors and seeing them in the garb that they had worn while living the adventures that they described in their volumes.

"Are you serious?" asked an amused Finn. "How many guests would come, 'way out here?" She had been talked into donning her black outfit, to the intense interest of her new friends.

Diana thought, and called in Hamilton. They estimated that perhaps as many as 50 might come. "Especially, if Finn and Veronica wear those outfits." Diana seemed to find that very funny. Hamilton admitted that it might draw book buyers, and perhaps the police.

"If it's a private party, they can't be accused of being indecent in public," Holly pointed out.

Finn laughed and pushed them out of her tent, pleading exhaustion. But she thought about it. She was becoming a clever businesswoman, always eager to find new ways to sell her books. And she did like the admiring looks that men gave her in that brief shorts outfit...

Challenger came, telling her that they had been allocated a bedroom in the main house. They transferred some essential items there, and she told him about the book sales plan.

He chuckled, but told her that they should think about it, if the Hardys would host the event. As she snuggled against him just before they slept, Finn was calculating the odds of selling books against the odds of scandalizing local dress codes in 1928. The idea of having men gawk at her in that brief outfit was a little appealing, if it didn't hurt her husband's reputation. And Finn very much wanted to become a famous author...and a successful one.

A servant girl named Wanjiru woke them at seven, with tea. She told them that the DC had arrived during the night, and wished to see everyone at breakfast at eight.

As they dressed, the Challengers wondered whether they would face any difficulty over Finn's having shot the fleeing Ahmed.

But Musgrave, although tired, seemed in good spirits, and told all there that he saw no problems with the previous day's actions. The police had taken Khalid to Ft. Hall where he had agreed to make a statement implicating the Sultan of Amarrah as his client in the kidnappings. Desperate to save himself from a hangman's noose, he added that another caravan had preceded the one that he had headed. "It seems likely that two other white girls and 15 African ones, with some 100 tusks are probably already at sea, headed for Amarrah." Musgrave was grim.

"I notified the Governor and the Provincial Commissioner, and they have alerted the Admiralty. If this ship can be stopped, it will aid immeasurably in indicting the Sultan on whatever charges can be brought against him internationally. I don't pretend to know how that works, but at the least, he will get a black eye over this. The world will know him for what he is: a nasty despot who deals in human misery." He reached for his tea with a grimace.

"Who are the white girls?" asked Holly. "Would we know them?" She shuddered, thinking how close she, Veronica, Marguerite, Diana, and Susan had come to the fate that awaited these young women if the dhow carrying them couldn't be found.

Musgrave consulted his notes. He read off the names, but no one knew them.

"Just as well," he smiled, "for one is a prostitute and the other is a French tourist who was suspected of similar activity. Her visa has expired, but she disappeared after her gentleman companion was arrested for scheming to defraud a Kenya resident in an investment swindle. I'm afraid they're rather rum girls, but not so bad as to deserve their present fate. If we recover them, the French lady will probably be deported, and the other warned to change her career. But if they reach Amarrah, they will sell for a tidy sum, and those elephant tusks will be worth a small fortune, also."

Lady Musgrave buttered a slice of toast and passed it to her husband, winking at Finn. Someone had evidently told her about Finn's doing that for Challenger. Finn blushed and grinned back.

Musgrave accepted it and said, "Why, thank you very much, Amanda. Very decent of you." He looked mildly puzzled, but pleased.

"What became of that pilot?" asked Roxton. "Did he ever locate the caravan and coordinate with the soldiers?"

"Ah, I was coming to that," the DC said. "Yes, we got word on Angus's radio this morning that Parker found the Arabs and guided Thorne's troop right to them. He got a couple of bullet holes in his fuselage from it, but wasn't injured. Thorne had some casualties, but killed about half of those blighters and captured the rest. He freed all of the African girls and recovered a large number of tusks. That ivory can be sold to raise funds to help the Game Department, which is a worthy cause. Such poaching has become a serious problem, and needs to be checked. Most of the people behind it are Indian merchants. The actual poachers are poor bush Wogs, who earn little from their risks. When caught, they usually have no idea who the top men are, and can give little information."

"I keep hearing this word, 'Wog'," said Mrs. Malone. "What does it mean?"

Marguerite muffled a snicker and looked to her husband to explain. He looked embarrassed, but said, "Veronica, during the late war, the King got complaints from foreign dignitaries that black and Indian troops were being called derisive names by white forces. The usual things: dirty, thieving coons, kaffirs, whatnot. That word beginning with 'N', too, of course. He ordered that they be referred to as Worthy Oriental Gentlemen. The British soldier being what he is, this was quickly shortened to the initials, hence WOG, and wogs, it has remained. Not very enlightened, I'm afraid, but probably the best that can reasonably be hoped for. The word is now used throughout the Empire."

"Before you get to feeling too much outrage," added Hardy, "keep in mind that these people, the average Africans, aren't really down out of the trees yet. They smother newborn babies if the shadow of a vulture passes over the hut where one arrives, because that means that there is a curse on the child. A '_thahu_'. That sort of thing. Many of them put their old people out in the bush for lions and hyenas to eat alive, too. They are also very susceptble to witchcraft, too, of course. "

"Daddy, tell them about Jomo," laughed Diana.

Her father chuckled. "I'm afraid that we had to transfer a boy from the kitchen to outside work after I came in the kitchen one day and found him rubbing grease from a roast onto himself. It made him look fashionable, by his standards, you see. That was bad enough, but when he saw me looking at him, he tried rubbing the grease off his body and back onto the meat. Needless to say, we had something else for dinner that night!" (Note: this is a true story, related by American hunter-journalist Robert Ruark, who was told it by a Kenya host. Several of Ruark's bocks give deep insight into Kenya of that day and into the 1960's. Ruark died in 1965.)

This generated laughter, even from the normally racially tolerant Veronica. It led to a discussion of African politics, mission schools, and the like that took up the remainder of their breakfast socializing.

But one key point remained. Hamilton broached the subject. "How do you folks feel about the safari? Geoff and I have discussed it, and we will refund your money if you decide to return to Britain, in view of what has happened. If you stay, we will give you a substantial discount, and we will still strive to get you exceptional trophies. Our reputations are at some risk, inasmuch as your ladies were taken from one of our camps. Both of us are deeply embarrassed about that. I cannot tell you how sorry we are."

Ned Malone replied that he and Veronica had talked this over, and decided to stay. "It may be our only chance to hunt in Africa, and aside from having my wife taken for a slave girl, things have gone well. She says that she'll get over it and will have to deal with it wherever she is, so we're for staying. John, George?"

"We're on, too," Roxton replied after receiving a nod from Challenger. "Marguerite wants to stay here for a couple of days to help the ladies sew some dresses and such, if that is permissible?" He looked at Hardy.

That gentleman said, "Glad to have her, and as many of you as want to remain for a bit. I've heard this idea of Finn and Ned selling books at a party here, and I'll invite some friends if you want to do that. Just see that I get a free book, eh?" He laughed. "And while this is being readied, you can shoot some leopard and bushbuck and lesser kudu here. Some baboons, too, if you will. They're into my mealie fields again. Damned pests! And they've been chasing the African girls as well as stealing food. They can be quite dangerous. We have to thin them out several times a year. Diana will show you where. If Susan hasn't done any shooting while she's lived here, perhaps she might enjoy that." He looked sympathetically at the pretty young blonde. He knew her story, having been briefed by Lady Musgrave.

"I'm on for it, too," said Finn. "I want to get movies of them doing that and us shooting them." She planned to show her wildlife films in Britain to augment her income from writing, and to promote her books. What she did not know was that she would have to shoot more than baboons, and would come near death...

"I want to shoot a really big leopard," Marguerite mentioned. "And if I can do that here, and stay in a civilized home at night, that would seem to be the best of both worlds. Sport and luxury. You keep a fabulous house, Diana."

"Why do you think I want to marry her?" laughed Stuart Hamilton. "Well, that's one reason, I swear to it!"

Following the laughter that this produced, they discussed who would do what, when, for the day. Marguerite asked for more coffee. "I think better after coffee," she pronounced.

"True," acknowledged her husband. "And without two cups in the morning, she's dangerous!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

It was cloudy that day over the Indian Ocean between Kenya and the Arabian Peninsula. The seas were choppy, and the destroyer H.M.S. Gallant rolled unpleasantly in the waves. Finally, the sun emerged, and the water calmed considerably.

Sublieutenant Giles Pennington, RN was the officer of the deck and he was glad that the choppiness had subsided as he sipped cocoa on the bridge. The ship was making 15 knots on a NNE heading when the watch shouted down.

"Mr. Pennington! Sir, there's a sail to starboard, about two o'clock. Looks like a really large dhow!"

Pennington raised his 7X50 Ross binocular and scanned the surface of the sea. He soon saw the ship and realized that it fit the description of one that he had seen an Admiralty signal about early that morning.

He turned to the Marine at the door, "Corporal, just nip down to the wardroom, will you, and ask the captain to come to the bridge. I think we may have found that slave ship that we want."

The captain was Lt. Commander Paul Preston-Smythe, MC, OBE, etc., a veteran of the Great War and an experienced ship handler in these treacherous waters. He took a good look at the dhow and said, "Mr. Pennington, arm a boarding party. Lead it yourself. We'll stop that dhow as soon as you're ready. Helm, increase speed to 25 knots. I want to come up closer on her before we order them to heave-to."

Pennington saluted and turned to go. The captain's voice stopped him. "Giles, why don't your lads take a Lewis gun as well as your normal weapons? I don't like the look of those bastards. Mr. Perry", he turned to his executive officer. "We'll have the gun loaded in the forward turret, please, and have the machinegunners and the two-pounder (40mm) gunners stand by, also. Whatever happens, I want to be prepared for it."

When Pennington was ready, the captain ordered the ship to close on the Arab dhow. As soon as he was close, he had the hooters blow. "_Whoop, whoop, WHOOP!"_

He turned on his electronic bullhorn and called across to the dhow, "This is the Royal Navy. Heave-to and stand by to be boarded." The dhow immediately unfurled more sail and turned for a nearby coral reef.

"If he gets into those coral shallows, Sir, we shall have lost him!". The Executive Officer knew that the destroyer couldn't safely follow into waters as shallow as the dhow could negotiate without risking her hull. Clearly, the Arab captain also knew this.

"I'm well aware of that, Number One," said Preston-Smythe. "Have the forward turret put a shell across their bow. I'm not fooling with that lot, and they need to know it, fast!"

BLAM! spoke the 4.7-inch gun, named for the diameter of the shells it fired. A huge splash rose from the ocean ahead of the dhow. But it failed to slow, and a man on the stern fired a burst from a German 08/15 Maxim machine gun. The bullets snapped past, and one sailor went down.

"I'll have none of that!" declared the destroyer's captain. "Medic! Man down!" He leaned out the door of the bridge and called to his best machinegunner. "Petty Officer Jones! Use your Vickers to hose down that deck. Kill that rotter with the machinegun!"

Jones tapped off several short, precise bursts, and the enemy gunner and several riflemen went down.

Preston-Smythe lifted the bullhorn again. "Arab captain! Heave-to or I'll blow your craft out of the water. I'll not waste any more shells from my main guns. The next will hit you. Final warning!" He had an interpreter say the same, lest the other man not speak English, although his intentions were clear.

Grudgingly, the Arab master ordered his sails lowered, and had the rudder set to take them back out to sea, well away from the reefs. He realized that his ship was no match for the swift modern warship.

Pennington got his boarding party loaded. He had taken the precaution of issuing cutlasses as well as .303 rifles, revolvers, and the men's' bayonets. And he took the Lewis light machinegun suggested by the captain.

The Arabs were made to stand clear of the gunwales and put their hands up. Pennington's party soon had them sitting on the stern, disarmed, their hands on their heads.

The Arab captain lashed out with a string of words that were foul in both Arabic and in English.

"Shut your bloody mouth, or I'll have a sailor apply the flat of a cutlass blade to your face. Is that understood, you perishing Wog? Now, tell me without foul language what your cargo is, and your destination. Now, damn you!" He drew his .455 Webley automatic and thumbed back the hammer menacingly. This was long before Political Correctness reared its head, and white naval officers searching Arab dhows expected to be feared and obeyed.

The Arab looked towards the hatch to the hold. It was guarded by a Marine and two sailors with rifles at the ready. The Royal Marine had his bayonet fixed, and looked as if he might like to stick it into someone.

The Arab realized that hope was lost. "See for yourself what we carry. Our destination is Amarrah. But, effendi, I had nothing to do with this cargo. I have only been employed to transport the girls and the ivory!" He looked pleadingly at Pennington, now that he saw his probable future.

"Right," said Pennington. "Bo'sun, watch this man. He is under arrest. Mr. Mills, you and I and two bluejackets will have a look down the ladder." The ensign beside him nodded, taking a good grip on his revolver.

He led the way below, one of the sailors following with a lantern. As he entered the near-Stygian darkness below decks, someone fired a shot at him. Pennington swung up the automatic and let fly with two 225 grain bullets, and the Arab fell, screaming. Pennington ran forward and finished him off with a shot to the head. He sheltered behind an oil drum and changed magazines.

He heard female voices screaming, and one asked, "Are you English? There are two more of these chaps, and they're armed! Take care!"

More sailors and other lanterns went below, and two Arabs came out of the shadows, their hands raised.

They were disarmed, searched, and sent topside. Pennington looked over the area carefully, and then had a sailor raise a lantern at the side of a low steel cage. Within, two white women cowered, their hands and ankles in chains. They were nude, and flushed in shame as his light revealed them. Other cages held native girls, also chained. They began to babble in Swahili and in their tribal tongues.

Pennington took a guilty look at the white girls, whose breasts were exposed, for their hands were locked behind them. "Good afternoon, ladies," he managed. "Sublieutenant Giles Pennington here. Royal Navy. May I be of some assistance?"

In years to come, he remembered that scene a bit smugly. Overall, he thought that he had behaved rather smoothly. He hoped that his embarrassment and his excitement hadn't shown as much as he was afraid that they had. Both girls were really quite pretty, and he hadn't seen all that many naked women.

"Sir!" called a sailor. "I've just found a whole load of ivory tusks. These people are major smugglers!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Back at the huge Hardy farm, Diana loaded a rifle and told Susan and Finn where they could go to shoot baboons. "We'd better smack that lot soundly," she cautioned. "They ripped one native girl quite badly last week, and the African supervisor for the mealie fields says that they've been stealing all the grain they can. Daddy's quite unhappy about that. We have a lot of money invested here, and the crops need to be gotten to market, not used to feed baboons!"

Susan, of course, had no rifle. Diana showed her the selection in their well stocked gun racks. "How about a nice .303 sporter?" she asked. "You can use a full 10-shot military magazine in these, and if there are a lot of those blighters and any come for us, that's a nice feeling to have, that many cartridges without having to reload. What are you used to? I could loan you a .275, if you'd rather, or a .256 Mannlicher-Schoenauer. No need for the big stuff and that ammunition is awfully expensive. We try to save those for animals large enough to need that much power."

Susan looked shyly at the guns and held the .303, a nice rifle by the BSA company. It felt pretty heavy to her inexperienced arms and she awkwardly raised it. The stock was too long, and Finn suggested trying another, stocked for Diana. "More a woman's size," she noted. "If it doesn't suit you, you can try my .303. We're about the same height and have the same arm length." Her rifles were made to measure.

"Um, Mrs. Challenger, Miss Hardy," Susan stammered. "Maybe I should mention a small matter. I've never actually fired a gun. Don't they kick a lot when they go off?"

Diana and Finn looked at one another. The former, like many Kenya women, had grown up with guns. She had killed her first elephant at 16. Not having guns around seemed an alien concept to her. She looked to Finn for help.

Finn sympathized. She hadn't been able to own guns of her own until after she had been rescued by Challenger from the perils of her 21st Century city. Being given guns taken from dead slavers and members of perished expeditions and told that she could keep them was one of the happiest days of her life. Not only did she admire fine firearms for their beauty and mechanical qualities; they often meant simple survival, as well as a means of obtaining meat where there were no butcher shops. Even at her elegant estate in Kent, she and her husband still slept with revolvers in their nightstands. It seemed excessive at times, but Finn wouldn't be without a gun whenever she had the option. The world being what it was, it just didn't seem prudent.

"Susan," she said, "I think we'd better ask Diana to send out some tea while we ladies sit at the table and I draw some pictures to show you how to sight a rifle. Then, we'll go over it with the real gun in your hands, and I'll show you how to hold it to minimize the recoil effect. These calibers don't kick like elephant guns. I'll let you fire a few shots with my ammunition and you can see what you're doing. I'll help you understand how to work the bolt without jamming the works and how to squeeze the trigger to get a clean kill. No jerking, for starters. Diana?"

The Hardy lass sighed. "I'll send for tea. I'll sit in on this, and offer encouragement. Susan, we can't muff this. I don't favor wounding even a baboon, and they can be dangerous. If we encounter other animals, they can be worse. Boy! _Letti chai kwa Mem'Sahibs! "_She did rather look forward to tea, at that.

"I think you girls need a man along," said Roxton, who had overheard. "Darling! Are you going to teach sewing class? If so, I think I'll join Diana and her expeditionary force against the baboons."

"Go ahead, John," came Marguerite's voice from down the hall. "We'll fight our battles back here with designing dresses and the like."

"Cool!" said Finn, slapping palms with Roxton. "Saved from the sewing circle, are you, Johnny?" She laughed.

"I'd rather face a dozen charging rhinos than that," admitted Roxton.

Diana Hardy smiled. These people were really quite fun. She was going to miss them when they left. And she didn't mind having Lord Roxton along. It was nice to meet an Earl. Especially one who looked like this one and had his personality! That Marguerite woman must be quite something to have caught him.

Finn got her own .303 and loaned it to Susan, showing her how to load it without the cartridges jamming, and how to cycle the bolt smoothly. "Don't try to work it as fast as I do," she cautioned. "Johnny showed me how to do that years ago, and I've had a lot of practice. Just try for smooth operation. Remember, this action cocks on closing, so you have to push the bolt harder on the return stroke. Now, try, with an empty rifle. Remember to keep the butt firmly in your shoulder socket. If you hold the rifle loosely, recoil will get a running start, and it will hurt more."

Susan liked it even better when Lord Roxton showed her how to hold the rifle in the back yard, and she was allowed to fire a few shots at dirt clods in an earthen embankment. His arms on her felt reassuring, and he was kind and friendly, and funny. Susan was suddenly jealous of Lady Roxton. She wondered what it took for a woman to find a man as good and as exciting as this.

Diana Hardy was amused. She teased, "Susan, try not to glow so much. Lord Roxton is a married man." Finn snickered. Roxton blushed. It was true that he enjoyed Susan's reaction, however loyal he was to Marguerite.

"Hey, people," said Ned Malone. "I think I'll get a rifle and join you."

"No, you don't, Buster," said his wife, walking out the door and taking his elbow. "You're stuck here, watching me try on the things that Marguerite and the others are making for me. Susan, don't be too long. We need to fit you with some clothes, too."

"Speaking of clothes, Vee, shouldn't you go put some on?" joked Roxton. Veronica was wearing just a blue shirt and panties, barely covered by the shirt tails. She was being fitted for a skirt and had walked out of the sewing room when she saw Ned trying to escape the house.

She looked down at her shapely legs and blushed. "Come on, Neddy," she said. "You're embarrassing me out here."

"Tough luck, Grandpa," razzed Finn. "At least, you'll get to see Vee undressed. You always like that." She grinned before realizing that she had just addressed him as her grandfather, which he was, actually, her great-great- grandfather... (See the Fic, "The Amazon Revelations", not just now on the Net, alas.)

"Why do you call Mr. Malone 'Grandpa'?" asked Diana. "He's barely 35 or so, if that."

Finn paled, but Ned quickly covered for her. "I used to sleep badly sometimes in the Treehouse," he explained. "If I said that I felt like an old man, Finny here teased me by calling me her grandfather. It sort of stuck, and she's teased me about it ever since."

Veronica turned her head to prevent the others seeing her smile. Roxton looked down and chuckled.

"Well, 'Grandpa', you're stuck here with your wife for awhile," said Veronica. "Come on, buddy. Tell me what I look good in. I don't want you very far from me for awhile, while I recover from what I went through at the hands of those damned slavers. I thought that I'd never see you again." She tugged Ned's arm and the Malones went back in the house.

As they went in the door, Ned raised her shirttail and smacked her firmly on the behind. She squealed, and Ned chased her down the hall, Veronica giggling as she ran.

"They seem so in love," said Susan dreamily, and Diana nodded, looking wistfully after the couple. She decided to ask Stuart if they could move their own wedding date forward. Veronica had a point. After her own ordeal, Diana was uneasy about sleeping alone, even in her beloved bedroom. Daddy wouldn't mind, she hoped. May tease me about being a bitch in heat, but that's what I've become. I don't want Stuart with me just for protection. I think I'll find other uses for him...

"Shall we venture forth and pop a few baboons?" asked Roxton.

The girls came back to reality, and nodded, Susan hoping that she would prove worthy of the others' trust. That rifle had hurt her shoulder a little, but it was thrilling to see her bullets hit a big dirt clod, even just 50 yards away. She hoped that shooting at living creatures wouldn't freak her out too badly. She wanted to look good for Mrs. Challenger. She sensed that Finn was going to be a fun boss, and nicer than most, by far. And her husband...so distinguished, yet so kind, even when he pretended to be gruff. Nice people. She wished there were more like them in the world.

She concentrated on what Roxton was saying about 174 grain (weight) softnosed bullets as he handed her two boxes of Kynoch .303 ammunition.

Finn took her favorite .275, one fitted with a Zeiss 4X telescopic sight. It was the rifle with which she had killed Ahmed. But she added her .450/400, a double-barreled rifle made to her measurements by the famous firm of W.J. Jeffery and Son, one of England's top custom gunmakers. It had cost a pretty penny, but she loved it, watching how the sunlight brought out the colorful grain in the French walnut stock and forearm, with the fine checkering and the exquisite scroll engraving on the action sideplates. The rich bluing on the barrels shone from the oily cloth that she wiped them with and she hefted it, just for the pleasure of feeling it come so naturally to her shoulder and seeing the Express sights align easily on a rock across the yard.

She chose two boxes of ammunition, one with softnosed bullets, the other of 400 grain "solids", heavily metal jacketed bullets designed to drive deep into big animals like rhino, Cape buffalo and elephant. She had fired her husband's .450, but decided that the relatively lighter recoil of her own rifle suited her slim frame better. And, if well used, a .400 was deadly, even on elephant.

Finn wanted to kill at least one elephant with ivory that weighed over 100 pounds a side. She hoped that her nerves would be up to facing one, especially if it charged. She pictured in her mind how the sights would look if she held on a small point just above an imaginary line between the elephant's eyes as it came for her. That was the path to the brain, and a miss would place her bullet in spongy bone, without enough effect to save her.

"Come on, Finn," urged Roxton, putting his own rifles in a hunting car. "Stop standing there worshipping that rifle, and let's go." He nudged her in the ribs, and she turned to him with a grin. But she put the rifle back into its case and got into the car.

"Finn is much like me," explained Roxton. "Spends all of her money on good guns." This hit too close to the truth for comfort, for Finn had indeed spent a lot on guns after leaving the Plateau. She had used almost two thirds of the fortune that she had taken from her share of the treasure of Xochilenque so far, and much of it had indeed gone for guns, knives, several pair of Zeiss, Leica, and Ross binoculars and good boots and hunting clothes. She had also had to buy conventional and cine (movie) cameras. And she and the Genius had spent most of the rest and much of his own money on their London townhome and the country estate.

She was glad that her book was selling well, and the publisher was pushing her for more. And George's inventions were selling, too, with royalties alone making them well off. With luck, they wouldn't have to go back to the Plateau soon for more of their remaining treasure. They had taken out only about half, their balloons pressed to carry even that much. Marguerite had selected pieces that had sold for far more than the gold alone would, to collectors of ancient Aztec and Maya art. And they had taken diamonds and emeralds, too.

But those guns would last a lifetime, and then become heirlooms. And the estate had spacious lawns and hedges for the children to play in. They would grow up in far happier circumstances than she had. Finn missed her children sharply then, and decided that they needed to finish the safari before too long and go back to being parents. George and I may be rich, she thought, but those kids aren't going to be raised just by nannies, like in many wealthy English homes. I'm a mommy, and I'm going to be a damned good one!

"Susan, remember to keep your rifle pointed up," cautioned Roxton. "Never let the muzzle cross another person, unless you mean to kill them. Thankfully, that won't be too often. What happened to us on this trip isn't our usual lifestyle, these days." He smiled reassuringly at her.

"Don't worry. Handling a rifle will soon become second nature to you," Diana chipped in. "Even you blondes should be able to manage that." She winked at Finn.

"Thanks a lot," muttered Mrs. Challenger. "I get as many of those blonde comments from Marguerite as Vee and I need. Don't start on poor Susan."

Little did she know that before the afternoon was out, she would be extremely glad that she had brought that .450/.400 double rifle. It would pay for itself many times over before the day was done...

They went by the hut of a native woman who had been injured by the crop raiders, and Diana dressed her wounds as her husband watched. The girl was grateful and the man warned, "Baboon, him bad fella. Mem'Sahibs take care. _Hatari."_

Diana translated. _"'Hatari'_ means danger. But we'll be careful."

They went to the outermost field, where girls were planting and tending corn, the American maize. Finn and Susan hid in a grove of trees and other growth and Diana and Roxton walked on out and back toward the truck. There was a theory that baboons could count to at least five, but sometimes lost track of how many people were in a party if some hid in cover and others reappeared. If there were baboon sentinels watching, maybe they'd be careless. They could definitely distinguish between native women with hoes or digging sticks and warriors with spears.

Before they reached the vehicle, Roxton and Diana ducked into a thicket of bamboo and other lush growth. Maybe the baboons would grow tired of watching, and think the humans had gone into the tall grass beyond.

Finn laid her .275 Rigby on a log beside her and set her .400 next to it. They had seen tracks of buffalo and lion nearby, and Roxton had advised taking a heavy rifle, in case they became involved with more than baboons. She opened a box of ammunition with "solid" jacketed bullets, and stuffed some into the cartridge loops on her safari vest. Maybe softpoints would be better if a lion came, but she was more concerned about rhino or buffalo. For these, she wanted the added penetration of the 400 grain full-jacketed bullets

Time passed. The usual calls of birds and monkeys that had been interrupted by their arrival resumed. One bird kept up a monotonous call that made Susan drowsy.

From wooded knolls a few hundred yards away, a leopard sawed, and baboons on the stony outcroppings where they lived went crazy with answering calls. Baboons hated leopards, their primary predator.

Finn scanned the area beyond the field with her binocular. She was thrilled to see a trophy class lesser kudu glide between some trees and stand briefly before it disappeared into the the bush beyond. Hamilton had been telling the truth when he said that the Hardy estate was premium hunting territory. Much was undeveloped, and was Africa as the first white men to come here had found it. Primeval, lush, thrilling. Beautiful. Dangerous...

She wished that she had shot the kudu, but it was gone so quickly that she wouldn't have had time to lift her rifle, and the range was long. Besides, she had promised to shoot baboons. Diana had complained of their raids on crops.

Their hostess worried that her father alone couldn't control animal depredations after she married. But Hamilton promised that he and Diana would stop by frequently to help. Hamilton wanted to sell his home in the N'gong Hills and buy the next farm over. If his safari business continued to improve, he hoped to do this within a year or two. Diana wished fervently that they could do that. Then, their combined holdings would be vast, rather than simply huge.

Finn heard a rustle in the long grass and a dik-dik ran out, disturbed by something big behind it. She and Susan admired the dainty little antelope, which stood barely a foot high. But what had frightened it?

Judging from the way that the grass moved, whatever it was was large. It snorted, and she ruled out lions. Rhino or buffalo, probably. They were too far from any river for it to be a hippo, although she knew that they sometimes ranged far from water. But that was mainly at night. And if this was an elephant, it would probably show above the grass, as tall as it was. But something was out there, maybe 150 yards away.

She lifted the .400 double rifle and opened the breech, sliding in two of the long cartridges. She snicked it shut, loving the refined click typical of these finely crafted weapons.

The distant animal in the bush moved closer, and the native women hoeing the field stood transfixed, staring at the moving grass. Then, one screamed, _"M'bogo_!" and they ran in panic.

"What in hell is that?" queried a worried Susan, remembering to whisper.

"Trouble," said Finn. _"M'bogo_ means a Cape buffalo."

Then, a big bull buffalo stepped clear of the cover and tossed its head. The horns must have been over fifty inches, tip to tip. It was the black color of a mature bull, in its late prime. It pawed the earth and bellowed angrily. Then, it saw another native girl come by and wheeled to chase her.

Roxton and Diana saw, but were not in a position to help. They ran from their hiding place to try to get into position for a shot. But Roxton realized that they couldn't shoot in that direction, not knowing just where Finn and Susan were.

He suffered from the emotional aftermath of having accidentally killed his elder brother when a bullet that he had put into an attacking gorilla had passed through the great ape and into the other Roxton. He had never gotten over this. As he had told Marguerite, it was not something that one really ever gets over. He certainly did not intend to miss the buffalo and hit one of the girls. Diana was equally aware of the need to be sure where her shots went. Her father had drilled that into her as she began learning to shoot, at age 10, with a .22 rifle. She seldom missed anything at which she shot, and if she did, the bullet went in a safe direction.

Finn walked out of the woods and waved at the bull, she and Susan shouting insults at it. Susan, at Finn's instruction, threw a rock at it. This had the desired effect. The enraged animal turned and made straight for the girls!

Finn was using the Jeffery .400 and she knew where to aim on a charging buffalo. Roxton had impressed that on her as the two friends looked at mounted animals in the trophy room at Avebury, one of Finn's favorite places on Earth. Sometimes, her husband and Marguerite Roxton gave up on the two hunters and went off to have tea as The Gun People talked calibers, rifle makers, and shot placement on various game animals.

She would sit, thrilled, as Roxton told of his own and other hunters' exciting experiences, and actually going to Africa was one of Finn's greatest ambitions. She had been almost beside herself with glee as they planned this trip. Challenger tried not to be amused at his wife's almost childish enthusiasm, and had rejoiced that she would get to do something that she had longed to for years.

But now, she was there, and in great danger. Like many before her, she performed much as she had been trained to do, as she had programmed herself to do. She knew that to stop this huge animal that was bent on destroying her and stamping her broken body into the red African soil until she resembled nothing human, she would have to place her bullet with precision. It had to hit at the base of the horn boss, just where the horns joined, as the bull lowered his head to make a thrust. If that bullet missed, Finn was going to the Happy Hunting Grounds in the Sky, and she knew it. She also knew that if she wounded the animal, it would only be further enraged. Engaging a buffalo was a fight to the finish. Huntress or hunted, one or the other would die.

She heard a shot to her left and realized that Susan had fired the borrowed .303. A pulse of red blossomed on the buffalo's chest and it flinched slightly. It switched direction for Susan.

Finn was appalled. Where could she now shoot to kill it in time!?

She pivoted and fired into the neck as the big beast ran by and saw it stagger and fall. She must have barely missed the spine.

As it rose, Finn ran around in front, yelling at Susan not to shoot. She didn't want to be shot, herself.

In line with the front of the animal again, she fired her second barrel into the exact spot that she wanted to as it surged forward. The bull dropped again and Finn immediately reloaded with the two cartridges held in the fingers of her left hand. She put a second shot into the same place, praying that they went home, striking the brain.

As Roxton ran up, his .416 Rigby at the ready, they heard the bull's lungs give that mournful bellow that buffalo did as they died. In this case, it was probably just air escaping from the lungs, for the brain was ruined.

They stood off and threw a few rocks at the animal without reaction, then Roxton touched the nose with a long twig as Finn and Diana stood ready to shoot if the animal as much as twitched.

It was dead, and Finn sat on a big log, overcome with relief. She laid her rifle next to her and breathed deeply as Roxton patted her shoulder and told her how proud he was of her for her heroism. He looked over at Susan and also praised her courage.

"It took some brass not to run, Susan," he said. "First time hunters usually don't have to face a charging buffalo. Welcome to our little group of survivors. Fools we may be, but we're all still here. Finny, your Genius will be very proud of you for this. I damned sure am! Wait until I tell Marguerite!"

"You tell Marguerite and George what happened, and George may divorce me for idiocy," Finn muttered. "And Marguerite will yell at you for getting us into this. You know how women always have to find fault if anything happens."

Diana laid a hand on Finn's cheek. "Mrs. Challenger, because of you and your raw courage, nothing DID happen. If you hadn't been here, that African girl would be dead. Daddy will be delighted to hear of this, and I have seen you with Professor Challenger. He would not divorce you, even for far worse things than getting into trouble with a dangerous animal. I think the two of you have one of the closest unions that I have ever seen. Watching all three of you couples has eased my final fears about marriage. Oh: Stuart and Geoff will love hearing about this, too. They will just be sorry that they weren't here. Technically, as your professional hunters, they have a duty to be with you at times like this. We should have told them we were coming. But two more people would have just made a crowd for what we planned to do, and I wanted Susan to have an easy time of it on her first hunt. Susan, how are you? Did you remember to work the bolt and reload after you shot?"

Susan drew back the bolt and caught the shiny cartridge as it flipped from the rifle's chamber. "Looks as if I did," she said proudly. She reloaded the rifle and rocked the safety lever back to Safe, as she had been taught.

"Mrs. Challenger, may I sit beside you? My legs are rather weak just now." Susan felt a little flushed, too.

Finn looked up and smiled, patting a place next to her on the log.

"Sure, Susan. Sit. And call me Finn."

"Yes, ma'am," said Susan. "Mrs. Challenger, I don't know about you, but I was a little frightened. Is it all right to admit that?" She took off her borrowed sun helmet and fanned her face with it.

Finn laughed. "It had better be. Because I was scared out of my skin! Johnny, do men get frightened by stuff like this?"

"Certainly," admitted Roxton. "But I am a veteran of quarrels with Marguerite. After that, I am up for hunting buffalo any day!" He laughed, and they all did, venting the emotion that had drained their bodies as they realized that they were alive and that the buffalo was dead.

In the distance, they saw trucks coming. Those at the house must have heard the reports of the heavy rifle and realized that they probably weren't firing at baboons. Natives were coming on foot, too. The women in the field would have told Hardy about the buffalo.

"_N'yama,_" said Diana. "Meat. That's what the wogs will make of this. We'll take just what we need, and give them the rest. Finn, I'm sure that Daddy will let you have the head to mount. You may have to take this on your license, though. The Game Department are often sticky about that."

Finn said that was all right. "I'll probably never have a closer call. This thing meant to get us. Johnny, how far from me did that animal drop?"

He paced it off. "About eight feet, Finn. That was a nice shot that put him down. Smack where it needed to go. Very cool shooting!"

"Mrs. Challenger, may I be excused for a moment?" Susan asked. "I need to step into the bushes and pee."

"You and me, both, Susan," said her new employer. "I'm just glad that I didn't go in my pants when that thing lowered its horns and went for us. If I'd peed my pants, Marguerite would never let me hear the last of it!"

"Watch out for snakes in there," called Diana as the other women went into the bush. "The ladies' room out here sometimes has prior occupants!"

"Bloody Africa," muttered Lord Roxton. "Everything bites. But I love it."

The girls were back when the trucks arrived, and they told Blacklaws, Hardy and others what had happened. Finn noticed that Holly had come and kept standing near Blacklaws. She wore clothes borrowed from Marguerite, her feet in sandals.

Challenger was there, and he took Finn's hand and asked if all was well. Told that he was still married to a living, breathing, uninjured woman, he chuckled and hugged her.

They measured the horns and found that they went 56 inches from tip-to-tip. A large, if not world record, Cape buffalo. A fine trophy, Blacklaws exulted.

"Finn," he said, "you shouldn't have been out here like this without Stuart or me. If you'd gotten killed, we might lose our professional licenses. But I must say, you're a deadly shot, and here is the proof of that. George, you must be terribly proud of your missus, I reckon!"

Holly went over and talked quietly to Diana and Susan and told them how she admired them. "I'm glad that it wasn't me who had to stop that beast," she admitted.

Diana looked at her with cool amusement. "You needn't worry, I fancy. Holly, unless my eyes deceive me, you're well along to getting Bwana Blacklaws to protect you from big, nasty animals. I thought that you were all but engaged to that chap back in Nairobi, the one whose family has the car dealership? Smythe Something?" Actually, the family was famous and Diana had even danced a few times at the Muthaiga Club with the man in question before deciding that she didn't like him. She knew his name very well.

Holly flushed scarlet. "Am I being that obvious? Well, one has to make some things clear, or a man won't catch on, eh? And Geoff is so much more dashing and exciting than most men. I think that life with him might be much more fun than marrying someone mainly for financial security and social status. My family would love to see me married to that other fellow, but when I'm with Geoff...I sort of tingle. Don't dare tell, will you?" She blushed even more.

"Your secret is safe with us," said Susan. "I'm just not sure that it's much of a secret, at least to the women here." She raised her voice. "Mrs. Challenger, should I record the size of those horns, or how you did this, for your next book?"

Finn beamed. She turned to her husband. "See, George? I told you that Susan would make a good secretary. Sure, Susan, write that down. Not that I'm likely to forget any detail of today."

She took Challenger's arm. "Genius, I want to mount this head. I want to remember this day whenever I look at those horns and give thanks that they didn't get into me. By a margin of about eight feet... Can we do that?"

"Of course, Darling," the eminent scientist answered. "I am rather proud of you, but I must say that I would have expected you to handle this well. You are a remarkable woman, after all."

Finn kissed him and saw that Susan had her notebook out. "Susan, please add how that long grass looked when we first saw it moving and heard that snort and how the black women ran off. That was scary! By the time I write that part of the story, it'll read really well, I bet."

"Yes, ma'am," said Susan. "I'm getting that down now. I know just how you felt, except that I was more frightened than you."

"Susan?" said her boss. "Just call me Finn, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Susan. "I'll try to remember that, Mrs. Challenger." She blushed as she realized what she had said and saw both Challengers grin and look at one another. But Finn was a little larger than life to Susan. She was rich, and she was brave and Susan would never forget how bold she had looked as she had joined the men in rescuing her from Khalid and his slavers. She was naturally shy, and Mrs. Challenger was a heroic figure to her. It surprised her to think that this seemed to be how Finn viewed her own husband and Lord Roxton, except that they were very clearly male. Finn did seem to regard Roxton as an elder brother whom she greatly admired. Susan decided that Finn probably saw Challenger as both husband and father as well as a benevolent provider of both financial and emotional support. That explained much about that couple, but Susan didn't let that conclusion affect her own admiration of Finn. The slim blonde with the saucy, wry sense of humor was no less a heroine in Susan's eyes for looking up to the strong male figures in her life. She had just proven her own daring once again, and Susan felt privileged to know her new boss.

Oh, well, she mused. The world needs icons. It gives the rest of us hope that everything will be all right. And I'm not going to muff this new job. It gives me more hope for a decent future than I ever dreamed that I'd have. And I think it's going to be fun, too. Certainly, exciting!

Hardy sent a truck to bring back another, larger one with a winch. They'd take the best meat and the head of the buffalo back to the main house, leaving the rest for the natives.

He kissed his daughter on the forehead. "Diana, you are truly a goddess of the hunt! You and your friends did this very well, indeed! I can't wait to show this head to Stuart. He went scouting, and will be back soon."

"Oh, Daddy!" she exclaimed. "Finn and Susan did all the shooting. Lord Roxton and I couldn't get in a shot."

"Nonetheless, you brought them luck, I'm sure. I'm proud of you, as always." He hugged her and Diana looked embarrassed but happy.

The skinners had begun their work, slicing out the tenderest parts of the animal as they worked, taking care to leave enough hide behind the neck to allow the taxidermist enough to make a good mount.

"Write down how they do this, Susan. I want to make this stuff come alive for my readers," said Finn.

"Yes, Mrs. Challenger," said Susan. I'm getting it. Ma'am? This is lots more fun than working in a bank."

They soon found the reason why the bull had been alone, not in a herd, and why it had charged so quickly.

One hind leg was badly lacerated by a wire snare from some native's trap. The pain must have been awful, and the animal was probably looking for any humans it found, with murder in its heart.

"Bloody Africans set these traps for buck, even though they're illegal," said Hardy. "We destroy them if found on my farm. As you can see, there's no way that one of these snares will really hold a buffalo. They're much too large and powerful. But they suffer terrible wounds like this from them, and it turns them very surly, to say the least. There's no infection in this case, so the injury is probably fresh. The meat will be fine, and this fellow was well along in age in buffalo terms. He wouldn't have lasted many more years. Better shot cleanly than to get old and be pulled down by lions or succumb to disease."

They found a warm reception when they reached the house. After Marguerite and Veronica had let Roxton have their opinion of his letting Finn and Susan nearly get killed (such things are always a man's fault, it seems), they congratulated Finn on her courage and shooting.

"You should have seen Mrs. Challenger," gushed Susan. "She was so brave, and she saved my life."

"Had to," said Finn. "I hate typing, and you don't." She grinned to show that she was teasing. "And Susan put a bullet right into its chest, too. Probably went in just above the heart and would have been lethal in a little while. I just had to brain - shoot it to save our hides."

"Well, Susan is needed in the sewing room," said Marguerite. "You can come tell us all about it while we fit her with some clothes. Fortunately, Diana and her late mother stocked some nice fabrics. Ned, you'd better stay out here and let Roxton explain why he left Finny and Susan alone. If he's lucky, I may sit with him by dinnertime."

Ned shook his head in sympathy with Roxton, and the men went out and looked at the buffalo head.

Well before dinner, Marguerite had decided to make up with her husband. She had known all along that he was not as much to blame as she had pretended, but she still felt that he should have been the responsible one. Letting two women hunt here on their own was rash. One was barely able to use a rifle!

Finn countered that this was to act as if women were incapable of managing on their own, and neglecting that she was a quick, instinctive user of guns who knew the anatomy of most game animals. "I'm pretty brave, too, when I have to be," she pointed out. "I've helped to save YOUR neck on occasion."

"Well, John should have looked after you better," said Veronica. "Men are supposed to do that."

Finn shrugged and went out to have tea with Roxton and Malone. She also wanted to admire the buffalo trophy, which she felt was well earned. Very feminine in most respects, she was still less inclined to find fault on female emotional grounds than were most of her sex. And Johnny Roxton was her best friend, perhaps even more so than either Marguerite or Veronica. She was the one who had suggested the hunting arrangement, and saw no reason to blame Roxton for going along with it. Had only baboons been the problem, their plan would have worked well.

An hour later, Marguerite looked out a window and saw Finn standing between her husband and Roxton, an arm around each. They were looking at the buffalo, laughing and gesturing enthusiastically as Finn and Roxton told the story to Challenger. Hardy, Hamilton, and Blacklaws were also there, looking impressed.

Veronica came over and said, "That darned Finnykins! Whatever else she is, she is definitely a man's woman. George will put her on that damned pedestal in their bedroom for this when they get home, and she gets all of those guys to tell her how hot she is! She SO knows how to work men to get them to admire her."

"I think that almost all men would admire Mrs. Challenger," said Susan. "But she just did what had to be done, very competently. I think I'm going to like working for her. But you ladies probably make dresses better. Thank you so much for what you're doing for Holly and me. We really needed something to wear."

"Given the situation, it was the least that we could do," said Veronica. "Come on, Marguerite, let's finish making these outfits. I want to get out there before Ned gets so enchanted by Finn that he forgets me."

"Mr. Malone is never going to forget you," said Lady Musgrave. "You should have seen the anguish on his face as he worried about you, Veronica. Go on out to him. You treated him and Lord Roxton a bit shortly, I think. The rest of us will finish the sewing."

Veronica thought about that, dressed in a new outfit, and went out to her man. She was well received by the men, and Ned made it clear that she was very special to him. Finn also hugged her, and Veronica decided to forget that she had been jealous a few minutes earlier.

Holly chose a dark green knee-length dress that set off her figure well, thanked the ladies for making it, and went out, too. If Blacklaws was out there, she needed to get in some time with him before she had to return to Nairobi. She thought that Finn and Veronica were tough acts to follow. Good thing that both were happily married! That was something that Holly looked forward to, herself.

Just before they ate, Musgrave arrived back from Ft. Hall. He had read a message from Mombasa about the dhow being intercepted and other girls being saved from slavery. He was also very pleased to recover so much illegal ivory. The telegraph and 'phone lines were being repaired, too.

During dinner, Roxton suggested that they get in some hunting as the Hardys' guests, and then go after elephant in the Northern Frontier District. Following that, they could hunt back south again, picking up any species of animals that they really wanted and hadn't gotten yet.

This suited everyone, but Holly pointed out that she was frightened to travel alone, and in any event, hardly had railway fare back to Nairobi. "Now that the telephone lines will soon be up again, I'll call Daddy and see if he'll come for me," she said. "I don't know what else to do."

Marguerite decided to play matchmaker. "Geoff, will you and Bwana Hamilton here mind awfully much if Holly comes with us? I mean, if she wants to? She needs protection, in case any of those slavers are still after her, and we need to be off soon, if we are to finish our safari on time and get back to our children. Holly, you'd be our guest, and I can loan you a rifle, if you want to shoot something on my licenses. Or, Sir John can surely write out a license or two at my expense, when he goes home tomorrow."

"Where would I sleep?" asked Holly. "I would love to come, if everyone agrees. Daddy will probably pay you back for my food and licenses."

"'Guest' means that you don't have to reimburse us," said Challenger. "Roxton and I will split your expenses, and I expect that you and Susan might like to share a tent. I'm assuming that Susan isn't too keen on returning to her flat in Nairobi and living there alone, after what has happened. Finn will surely want her along, if she cares to come."

After some discussion, this was agreed to by all, Hardy saying that Holly could use his radio that night to get a message to her family, telling them of the arrangement. She could also convey Susan's resignation to the bank.

So, it was decided that the group would remain together, save that the Musgraves would return to their home on the morrow, and that Diana would stay home with her father. They had a huge farm to run, and she would see everyone else on their way back to Nairobi.

"Do you and Susan know the best reason for you to share a tent, Holly?" inquired Blacklaws politely. "It's so that if one of you sees a snake, she can scream and warn the other." He laughed at their expressions.

"Don't mind him," said Veronica. "Boys like scaring girls whom they really like. Geoff is probably just wishing that you'd share HIS tent." Holly blushed as everyone laughed.

But she looked intrigued at that prospect, thought Lady Musgrave. This safari had become much more than the hunting trip that it began as and perhaps some good would come of it. Holly might indeed shoot some game, but the primary trophy that she wanted was a certain sexy white hunter.

They stayed the night at the Hardy farm, with spacious bedrooms and black servants. Marguerite thought this far superior to a canvas tent out in the bush. She had come on safari only to please Roxton, although she had enjoyed some aspects of the experience far more than she'd expected. And one, far less. Being kidnapped to be sold as a slave tends to put a damper on any trip...

In their room alone at last, she was undressing when she became aware that John was lying nude in bed, propped on an elbow, watching her.

"What?!" she demanded. "Do I have a wart or something? Why are you staring at me?"

He smiled, came off the bed and held her gently as he kissed her and then led her to the large mirror above the dresser. "Look in there. Tell me what you see," he ordered.

"I see you standing behind me, looking at me like you're a dreamy schoolboy," she muttered. "Are you in one of your sentimental moods?"

"Yes," he answered, bending to nibble at the side of her neck and the lobe of an ear. His lips were soft, but persistent, and she soon turned and engaged them with hers. She was tired, but when John did this just right, she usually became energized and responsive.

She felt her nipples harden in her white lace bra cups and a tingle ran through her whole body.

Roxton turned her back to the mirror. "Watch," he said and ran his hands down her arms, his fingers encircling her waist, making small motions that ignited her desire even before he reached back and unclipped her bra. She always marveled at how his deft fingers managed that so effortlessly. He could even do it one-handed most of the time. Tonight, he used both hands, his fingers caressing her as he slowly removed the garment and folded it before putting it on the dresser.

His hands moved to her now naked breasts and ran over every bit of their flesh before he used his thumbs and forefingers to tweak at the now engorged nipples, pulling gently on them until she moaned softly.

"Roxton, I knew that you'd do this to me. You're still not out of the doghouse for not staying with Finn and Susan. But don't let that stop you. Keep on entertaining yourself at my expense. It isn't wholly uninteresting for me. You do have a certain way with your hands. Slip off my knickers and see what your imagination can manage with me bare."

"You won't be bare," he murmured, nibbling again at her ear. "You still have these pretty gold loop earrings like you tease Finn for wearing. I believe that you have been known to refer to them as slut earrings?" His hands moved down her hips, catching the elastic waistband of the panties, lowering them slowly as he turned her and stood in front of her, his lips following the panties down her body.

He lingered to run his tongue around the mound of her lower belly, above the pubes, and her fingers seized his hair and squeezed as if she was clutching the edge of a cliff, lest she fall. She heard herself making small squealing and moaning noises that sounded like something that she would tease the blondes for making. Or, maybe like a mouse in heat, she thought, trying not to laugh at that image.

She lifted first one foot, then the other, as he pulled off the panties and tossed them on the dresser. His hands played again with her breasts as they kissed, lips and tongues probing and licking lightly until she pressed her body to him and shivered. He knew then that she was ready for him, and a quick test conducted by slipping a finger within her nether lips told him what he wanted to know.

"Oh, all right, so I'm as wet as Loch Lomond," she confessed. "You do this to me so easily. I'm surprised that you aren't even smugger about it than you are. But kiss me a little while longer before you lead me to the bed and have your way with me. I like just kissing and being held, too."

"The Loch is a good comparison," he acknowledged. "You taste salty down there, though, which I will re-establish in a moment, although I vividly recall it. Marguerite, I'm teasing you, but I love every inch of your body, and playing with it is an endless delight. If you like this half as much as I do, we will never part."

"Unless some slave dealer sells me where you can't buy me," she replied. She grew cold, frightened. She pushed away from him for a moment. "John, what would you pay for me on the slave block, if I was sold again, and you could pose as an Arab buyer? Would I excite you as much as the younger slaves? I mean, if we were strangers?"

He stepped back a pace and looked directly into her eyes and she knew that he was speaking the truth. "Marguerite, dearest heart, I would spend far more on you than on a younger girl. She wouldn't have your experience, or your spirit, or your mannerisms, to which I have managed to become accustomed. And I know what you like in bed: I can fine tune you like a master horologist sets a watch to indicate the precise second. But your blend of beauty and sauciness is rare, with your intelligence on top of it, and your worldly experience. Yes, I'd buy you first, and pay a pretty penny to put my collar on your neck. Want that neck kissed some more, by the way?" He showed her what he meant, and she quivered as he demonstrated his skills in that realm.

"What about Finn or Veronica," she wanted to know. "What would you pay to own them?"

"A lot, I suppose," he admitted. "They are also beautiful women, and I share some things with Finny that I don't with anyone else. And Vee is also a good friend with whom I share many memories. But if I bought them, I'd return them to George and Ned. They are so much a part of my best men friends that I'd feel too out of place playing with their women. 'Doing' either would feel like fucking my sister. You, on the other hand..."

"Yes?" she gasped as his hands played with her again, warming her passion.

"You are the ultimate woman, and the only one whom I want badly enough that I'd try to beat a friend's time to have, if I had to. I'd try to seduce you away from anyone, even Challenger, I'm embarrassed to say. And George is like a brother. You have brought sin and moral dissolution into my life, Marguerite. I hate even thinking of cuckolding a pal to have you. But I believe that I would." He chuckled. "I just hope that my former male friend wouldn't shoot me for making a play for you. No man would relinquish you willingly." He played with her bare buttocks, and she moved to join her tummy to his, kissing desperately and deeply, then more lightly, longer, as his hands travelled her body, down her shoulders, along her spine, lingering again at her bottom, making her want him like nothing else on this Earth. I am SO his woman, she mused. I hate myself for not trusting John sooner and letting him have me. I know now that he treats me like a fine porcelain sculpture, and would never drop me. He would be as shattered as I would be if anything happened to me, Oh, I never dreamed that a man could feel this strongly about a woman, especially me! I have been so blessed to find him and keep him, after all that I have done, all that I have been. "Oh, John!" she heard herself say.

"Yes?" He pulled away from her lips briefly.

"Just,'Oh, John'," she muttered. "I think you'd better bring me over to that bed and take me now, before I melt in your arms. I just wish that I had believed in you before I did. Can you ever forgive me for my doubts?"

He chuckled, a low, sensual sound. "What will you do for me if I do?"

"Nothing that you need," she admitted, "for whatever I have to offer is already yours. Why not test me? I'll keep you up all night, Mighty Hunter!" She snickered and locked lips with him again as they moved sideways, holding each other, toward the bed.

As they rolled into bed, she asked, "I presume that you want me doggy style? I know your dark desires, John. "

"I want to do that later," he agreed. "Right now, I want to have you from on top, so that I can look into those wonderful green eyes and get lost in them. Marguerite, you did something to me from the moment that I saw you in that auditorium during Challenger's speech about going to the Plateau. I knew that I had to have you, even then. As I got to know you, peeling away the layers, I knew that I had to keep you, forever, or my life could never be complete. Please believe that, for it is totally true. Lady Roxton, I love you beyond expression."

"Hmmm...What if you asked Finn or Ned for expressions? I could stand to hear what they'd come up with. They're good writers." She reached for his lips with hers.

He kissed her for awhile before answering. "Oh, I think that I'll do that! Ned may be embarrassed, but Finn will think it's funny. And romantic! She'll come up with some good words, and I'll tell them to you. But they won't be any more sincere than what I have just spoken. You are the light of my life. And I love you. Now, open your legs and let's see how interesting I can make this night for you."

She complied, wadding the sheet in both hands as he began probing, teasing with his mouth before finding her center of pleasure. His hands played with her waist and breasts, sending waves of passion throughout her.

Later, spent, they lay touching one another, their hands now expressing affection more than trying for arousal. They continued to kiss, holding each other tenderly, lips and thoughts touching and bringing union beyond what she had once thought possible.

"I love you," they said simultaneously. And what they said with their eyes spoke volumes, thoughts so refined that neither of the authors in their group could approach them with words on paper. Some words have to come silently from the soul, but they surpass anything that can be typed, although not everything that can be felt.

Finn and Challenger lay with each other, Finn excitedly telling George how it had felt to see the raging buffalo bull through the sights of her Jeffery .400 rifle.

"If you hadn't bought me that rifle, Genius, I might be dirty red paste in the dirt where I stood. That was one of the scariest things that I've ever done. And I was responsible for Susan's life, too. I knew that she can barely load and fire a rifle. She doesn't know where to shoot animals to hit them right. Marguerite is right: Johnny probably should have stayed with us. But if some of us hadn't walked back out of those trees, the baboons would have known that we were still there! Diana and her dad needed those pests thinned out!"

Challenger smiled and brushed a lock of blonde hair off of her cheek. He kissed her tenderly. "Darling, you brought five rifles on this trip. The way you shoot, any might have sufficed. But I suppose that the .400 is the heaviest and the best, for that. It was a bargain if it saved you, or just pleases you to have it and hold it."

"It is heavy for me, a little," she admitted. "I'd use my gun bearer if I had to carry it a long distance. But when the chips are down, it will save my skin. And maybe, someone else's."

"Well, I am delighted that you managed so well. I only wish that we were at home, and I'd set you on your pedestal." He laughed at the thought.

Finn glowed and hugged him. "You're a silly man, George Challenger, but you're totally MY man, and I love that pedestal. It took awhile to get over the embarrassment, but I sort of like it now, when you put me up there. Sometimes, it even turns me on a little. Remember the night you set me up there after we'd heard that my book was accepted and would be published soon? I was like, so horny, and your doing that just made it worse. You looked so smug when I went for you and you played me like a violin. Hey, I need a less trite simile. How about saying that you played me like a Stradivarius? That's the only brand of violin that I know."

"You need to pay more attention to violins and less to rifles, I expect," he teased. "I think you know every major make and model of hunting rifle and many used by the armies of the world. Good heavens, you own a dozen! Well, those guns give you and Roxton something to discuss and play with when he visits. And I do enjoy talking to Marguerite while you two Gun People entertain one another. She is a remarkable person. You should spend more time with her."

"I know, Genius," she admitted. "Really, I spend quite a bit of time with her. I like her. She can still be snarly, but she's really less judgmental than Vee is about a lot of things. Not that I don't love Vee, too. We'd have all been goners if she hadn't let us stay in the Treehouse. I'm so glad that she and Ned finally got together. They seem really happy. Poor Ned was going nuts while those slavers had her."

Challenger sobered, and a grim expression crossed his face. "Nicole, that was an awful time for all of us. Marguerite taken, too. John was far more affected than he let show, but even what showed made my heart go out to him. I kept giving mental thanks that you were with us and weren't taken, too. I don't know if my heart could have withstood that."

"It would have had to," she pointed out. "I'd have been desperate to see you again, and I'd need you to rescue me."

He looked carefully at her. "There was a time when I thought that you needed no one, and would insist on taking care of yourself."

"And I might not have been able to," she confessed. "Remember when Burton took Marguerite and me? (See the Fic, "A Night in the Lost World") I was still training to be a slave when that Zanga guy let us out of our cell. I'd like to think that we girls would have thought of something, but I can't be sure. And you and our other friends might never have found us. I was terrified most of that time. Marguerite was, too. She's just too proud to admit it. But I know her, and she was scared silly."

"With good cause," Challenger said. "Burton had reason to hate her, and he did. But I would have found you, as Roxton would have found Marguerite. Neither of us would have given up until we did. You women had already become part of us. Losing you would have been like losing a limb." His face told the tale of his anxiety then and of his determination.

"Which limb?" she teased, hoping to lighten the mood. "Not this one, I hope?" Finn toyed with his tumescent maleness, stroking it with skilled fingers before lowering her head and taking him in her mouth.

She was an artist at this, and Challenger soon overcame his stress. Her talented tongue quickly led them into other activities, which might well have seen her pregnant with a third child, had she not been taking his birth control formula pills. These were one of the fringe benefits of being married to a brilliant scientist and inventor.

After, exhausted, they lay in one another's arms, murmuring sweet somethings. Finn liked that term. "Why say 'sweet nothings' when you can mean it?" she often laughed. Her man was amused and told her that he never spoke 'nothings', anyway. When he spoke to her, it was from the heart, and Finn could rely on the sentiments that he expressed. That had melted her own heart and she had clung to him, kissing, telling him in return that her heart was his.

"And the most priceless thing that I will ever touch," he had confirmed. "Compared to your love, iridium and gold are cheap items. You are ever the most valuable presence in my lab."

"Our lab, Lover," she corrected. "I first seduced you in a lab and I've liked them ever since." She giggled, and he played with her butt, the way that made her purr.

In time, they slept, looking forward to seeing more of Africa and having experiences that they would treasure forever. Finn was thinking of how best to get wildlife films as she drifted off to sleep. Her man kissed her eyes as she dreamed and then slept himself. His last thought was how lucky a man he was. He teased Finn about her fondness for guns, but that Jeffery .400 was one of the best investments that he had ever made. It had bought him the life of his wife, without whom he would have been devastated. What would I tell the children? he wondered, glad that the need had been avoided by her bravery and through her keen marksmanship.

Challenger decided to say a prayer of thanks before he slept.

CHAPTER 24

The next morning, all rose to servants knocking on the doors of their rooms, bearing pots of tea, that deep amber liquid staple of the British Empire that has calmed so many English hearts at times of stress and brought joy to those just weary in the afternoon. It also served well to begin the day.

Everyone staggered out of bed and dressed before assembling at the Hardy table. There, fresh bread, eggs, and antelope steaks with jam and butter stimulated discussion.

The couples sat next to each other, as was their way, with Angus Hardy at the head of his table and Diana opposite, as his hostess. But in fact, she seldom had to go to the spacious kitchen, as the African maids brought whatever was required. One, Wanjiru, was a pleasant faced girl who was curious about the visitors. She spoke fair English. The other girl, Frances, communicated in Swahili. The houseboy, Joseph, oversaw everything to perfection. Among the African help, he was the headboy for the entire estate. He had been with the Hardys for 10 years, and knew well the way of Europeans. He was Somali, not Kikuyu, and his English was quite good, as was his Arabic.

The other guests looked around, carefully deciding where to sit. Diana made a point of seating her fiancé next to her, and his friend and fellow hunter next. Not coincidentally, she fitted Holly in next to Blacklaws, having warned Hamilton in advance that he must sit so as to allow his fellow hunter to be next to Holly.

When he had looked puzzled, she rolled her eyes and whispered into his ear the news about Holly and her interest in his friend. Other than poor Blacklaws, Hamilton was probably the last to know that Blacklaws was a romantic target. But he had looked amused and told Diana that Holly was a striking woman and one worthy of Geoff, if she could take him off the market.

Susan sat by Finn, across from Holly. She was still a little shy of Holly, the rich girl whose father owned the bank where she had worked until so recently. She also felt pale in comparison to Holly's world class beauty. But Susan was underrating herself. She was very attractive in her own right (slavers do not steal plain girls!) and Finn was a little worried that some young bachelor would soon marry her and she would be without a secretary again.

Susan brought her notebook to the table, and recorded what they ate and who was there, showing Finn her notes. Finn beamed, and told Challenger. "See? I told you that hiring Susan was a good idea. Now, I don't have to write down all of this stuff, myself. I can work on deciding what else to say and how to get it all together."

They decided to hunt bushbuck and leopard that day and the next, going after Lesser Kudu once everyone had the other species.

Hardy wanted two leopards killed off before they ate too many of his sheep, and Marguerite volunteered for that. Blacklaws would sit in a thorn "blind" with her until after dusk. Then, the hunting car could collect them, leopard or no leopard. It wasn't a good idea to stay the night in the bush. Not only might a leopard prove a threat; there were lions and other animals best not met in the dark.

Roxton tried to pay Hardy to hunt on his land, but the tall Kenyan waved him off. "Look here, Lord Roxton, John, you people rescued my daughter from those Arab and African ruffians. If you had not been there to assist, my darling child might now be crawling on her knees, begging to please some dusky despotic sultan in Amarrah. I plan to write to the Governor, asking that more be done to stifle the slave trade and illegal ivory smuggling. Besides, one of your hunters is my future son-in-law. We have no intention of letting you pay. Just pass along the word about Stuart's safari business if you like his results. Can't hurt him to have more clients." And he would hear no more of anyone compensating him for his hospitality. As it turned out, it was the better part of a week before everyone had all of the trophies they wanted, including a bushbuck shot by Susan, carefully coached by Finn and Challenger. It was her first kill of a live animal, unless one considered that her .303 bullet in the buffalo's chest might have proven fatal in time. They had not checked penetration of the bullet, and it might not have had the mass to travel straight and deep enough to destroy vital organs. Finn's heavier solid .400 bullets had that power, causing her to favor it or her .375 H&H Magnum for bigger animals.

But for bushbuck and similar game, the .303 was entirely adequate. It also culled several wild dogs, hyenas, and baboons before they left.

Susan's eyes lit up like incandescent bulbs when Finn told her that she could keep the .303, although she would have to transfer title and arrange the appropriate licenses after they returned to Britain. (In 1920, Britain had enacted the first of a series of gun laws that by 1997 had seriously hampered the ability of the ordinary honest British subject to legally own firearms. The 1997 law would be especially grim and sweeping, and would have been entirely intolerable to the explorers and their friends. Had they still been alive, they would have probably long since moved to another land. But for the length of their days, they were able to keep what they wanted, although having to deal with more red tape than seemed good in a free nation. This was only the birth of the socialist "big brother" octopus, of course. Its tentacles would eventually reach into all areas of British life. But that was many years in the future, and would not affect our heroes. Susan would soon own several guns, on grounds that she was free to shoot them on Challenger or Roxton lands, and needed them to accompany her employer on dangerous expeditions.)

For a girl of common parentage, the opportunity to own fine guns and to hunt was unusual. She was thrilled, and felt better about herself and the new job. She now dwelt among the gentry, and her imagination was full of excitement and the sense of privilege that this produced. Her future seemed brighter than she had dared to hope.

She had even been taught to shoot by an Earl, and sat near him at table, hearing his tales of derring-do in war and the hunt. Her life felt full, and she faced each day with a joy previously unknown.

How strange that this change had come as a result of having been kidnapped, intended for a far different fate...

In a little over a month the explorers and their guests returned to Nairobi. Susan paid off the lease on her flat, and was assisted in packing her few belongings while the others stayed in the New Stanley. She sold her furniture and closed out her bank account, receiving the often rather jealous well wishes of her former co-workers.

Holly dreaded telling John Ridley-Smythe that she had had a change of heart and knew that she could not marry him, although she had had no proposal from Geoffrey Blacklaws. She had dated him several times, and hoped for the best, but had to admit that they probably needed more time to know one another befpre the cautious white hunter reached any decision about her.

The matter was solved more easily than she expected. Her beau telephoned her and she agreed to meet at his family's majestic home. There, he led her into a sitting room and told her that his interest in her was ended. He apologized, and was courteous, but explained that in view of her "situation" having become public knowledge, he of course could not entertain ideas of marrying her. People supposed that she had probably "done things" that girls "such as she" would be forced to do while in chains enroute to an Arab dhow. He even had the audacity to ask eagerly if she would tell him what acts had been compelled from her. It was clearly a matter of lewd interest, and she was disgusted. She left in a huff, driving home angrily in her Mercedes convertible. She almost hit a dog in the street, so great was her pique, barely managing to swerve just before she struck the unfortunate cur.

On arriving home, she found a message from Blacklaws, asking if he might call on her. Although not in too charitable a frame of mind concerning men just then, she had rung back, and Blacklaws took her to dinner at a restaurant as good as colonial Kenya afforded. He treated her not as "soiled goods", but more like a princess.

And he did a rather good job of trying to sell her on his prospects and on his potential as a father. He pointed out that he was well off, if not truly wealthy, and that he could show her more adventure than most men might. He apologized for not having known her better over a period of time. And then, he asked if she would consider marrying him!

"You'd meet some interesting people," he promised. "And I can offer you a life less dull than if you marry that auto dealer's son whom I've heard about. Will you at least think about my proposal?" He looked anxiously at her over the rim of his wine glass.

Holly said that she would need to think about this, and hoped that he would understand. He assured her that he would and asked when she might have an answer for him. After all, apart from their time on safari, they had known one another just casually, having danced a few times at parties. Geoff was not at all sure that his proposal would be well received, although Hamilton had tipped him off to Holly's interest.

"Soon," she said. She motioned for him to wait, and studied her wristwatch. She held up five fingers, and then lowered them one by one as the seconds passed.. When she was out of fingers, she said, "All right. I took time to think about it. Geoff, if you were serious, you are now officially an engaged man. Yes, I'll marry you! I have been hoping that you might ask, for I have dreamed of little else since you came into that room where you saw me in such humble circumstances and showed me so much compassion...not to mention staring at me like I was a goddess. I felt more like a whore, but you looked at me with respect and pleasure as well as with lust. Don't say that there was no lust, but I liked the way that you handled it. I felt desirable, not like a fallen woman. And you have always been such a dashing figure! I think I have been a little in love with you for years. You seemed so glamorous as I watched you lead your safari clients and read of your exploits in the papers. Are you sure that I am what you want? I now have a certain reputation, and many men might find that unacceptable. You saw me and what I was about to become. Can you live with that?"

He shrugged. "I asked, didn't I? The Sultan of Amarrah's loss is my gain. If you'll have me, I'll be proud of you. And any man who sullies your honor will have to answer to me."

"Oh, Geoff! Then, yes, I will marry you! May I tell my family that we are engaged?"

"Unless you want us both to tell them," he grinned. "But first, I suggest that we order a bottle of champagne. I think we have something to celebrate."

Holly thought that champagne had never tasted better.

CHAPTER 25

Two months later, everyone was settled back in Britain, Susan happily helping Finn to prepare her next book and edit the film that she had exposed of wild animals. She found that Finn's comment about the Challenger family cook was true, and she loved walking the estate in Kent. It was beautiful, and soothing to the soul.

She told Finn, who said, "We planned it that way. My soul needed some soothing, and between George Challenger and this place, it feels a lot better than it used to."

The Roxtons were also glad to be home, but Roxton was concerned for his wife's safety. The couple went armed, at home and in London. This was not technically legal off of their estate, but few policemen would have the temerity to search the Earl or the Countess of Avebury. And armed members of their staff were always with their children, lest they be kidnapped.

The Malones returned to Brazil, where distance, at least, precluded the long arm of Amarrah from easily reaching out to menace them. But Ned sometimes woke to find Veronica sobbing, shaking as she fought nightmares about being disciplined for failing to satisfy the Sultan.

"That's ridiculous," Malone told his wife. "You'd be able to satisfy any man who ever lived. And make him feel lucky to have had you."

He held her while she got control of herself, and in time, the dreams became less frequent and less vivid. But she admitted in letters and in radio calls to her "sisters" in Britain that she was uneasy. That whipping in Kenya and what she'd done afterwards had taken some starch out of her. She was made a woman afraid, not the brassy jungle princess who would face anything with confidence. It would take time to recover and regain all of her self respect, although she loved the way that Ned nurtured her. She began to understand some of what Finn had felt for Challenger when she had poured her heart out to him in this very Treehouse, in the early days of their love.

But if she had nightmares, she was brought closer to Ned, and found that she loved him more fully and with less reserve than ever before.

Xma'Klee, the Zanga Indian shaman, came and told her that he had seen her imbalance with nature. He cast a spell and told her that she would heal, and to be grateful for her husband and children.

Assai, the Zanga chief Jacoba's daughter, and Sa'eera, the chief's youngest and favorite wife, came and Veronica told them what had happened to her. They clung together and cried and then they told her that she must heal, for the sake of Ned and their children. Then, they insisted that she tell them about their friends and what else they had done together. They loved seeing photos of strange animals and of the Roxtons and the Challengers and their children. Veronica showed them souvenirs that she and Ned had brought home. And she began to heal

But she continued to be very glad to have Ned at her side, especially at night, when what walked below the Treehouse might not frighten her as much as what lurked in her head.

CHAPTER 26

The Roxtons went to the Challenger estate in Kent and were relaxing over brandy after a meal to remember. Roxton mentioned the stress under which they were living, never knowing whether the Sultan might have Marguerite seized again or simply killed. They were also afraid for their children.

"Finn may be on their list of women to acquire, too, after having escaped their clutches in Kenya," said Challenger. "Only being with us in the car that day saved her then. And the Sultan can easily learn where we live. I am one of history's greatest scientists, and every blasted newsman in the kingdom knows where we live, or can learn. But I am taking steps to see if something can be done about our shared situation. Tomorrow, after breakfast, we will host a guest who thinks that he may be able to help. You two need to stay over and talk to him."

The following morning, at ten o'clock, the butler announced gentleman callers. He was used to important guests, but he seemed a bit in awe of these men.

"Sir," he said to Challenger, "it's Mr. Churchill and the Leader of the Opposition in the House of Lords!"

On a sunny day in August, His Majesty King George V looked out of a balcony window at Buckingham Palace. He raised a binocular and studied the faces of the crowd gathered along Horse Guards Parade as the Changing of the Guard began. The band began playing, "The British Grenadiers", that most imposing of marches.

A Naval aide came quietly into the room as tea was served, and announced, "Your Majesty, the Prime Minister is here."

The King nodded, and the aide showed in the political head of the nation.

After obligatory talk over various matters, the King mentioned the Sultan of Amarrah.

"Have you finished talking with the Privy Council and your other advisors, Prime Minister?" inquired the King-Emperor, ruler of what was then the mightiest empire on Earth.

"We have, Your Majesty, and we feel that it is unacceptable to have the Earl of Avebury and his family ill at ease over the possibility that they might come to harm at the hands of a savage and pompous Middle Eastern ruler. I am told that Professor and Mrs. Challenger, the renowned scientist and inventor and his famous young wife, are also in dread of foul deeds by this Arab despot. Both couples have children, as well."

"And you are agreed that the action that we discussed last week is appropriate, and necessary, if the whole of the Empire is not to lose face?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. I have come to tell you that I will address both Houses of Parliament this afternoon. If the resolution that I will put before them passes, I will announce on the radio this evening that a state of war exists between the Sultanate of Amarrah and the Empire, and that you, Sir, are in full accord with this decision."

The King nodded. "And there will be no problem in removing the Sultan and sending him to prison in India, and making Amarrah a British Protectorate?"

"I feel certain, Sir, that the concept will be popular in both Houses. A fleet is being readied to sail from Portsmouth as soon as may be practical, and one will also depart Calcutta in time to arrive in the Gulf of Amarrah with the first. Amarrah and its oil will soon be in British hands, and the highway robbery prices from there will subside."

The King nodded and pressed a hidden button. The Naval aide came in and the King said, "Commander Benton will show you out. We shall listen for your radio address today with eager anticipation."

"Good day, Your Majesty," said the Prime Minister. "Thank you for seeing me."

The King walked over to the large globe in its polished mahogany rack which dominated one corner of this splendid room.

He spun the globe, put a finger on the Sultanate, and began humming, "Wider still and wider, shall thy bounds be set..." *

The End

* The song is, "Land of Hope and Glory." Full lyrics are surely available on the Net.


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